


scars and splinters

by essellair



Category: IT (1990), IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aged-Up Losers Club (IT), Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Angst with a Happy Ending, Artist Richie Tozier, Athlete Eddie Kaspbrak, Bottom Eddie Kaspbrak, Bottom Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier-centric, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Angst, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, Georgie Denbrough Lives, Good Parents Maggie & Wentworth Tozier, Group Therapy, Healing, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Mentions of self-harm, Not Beta Read, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Soft Eddie Kaspbrak, Soft Richie Tozier, Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting, Top Eddie Kaspbrak, Top Richie Tozier, additional tw before each chapter, angst is mostly in the past, eddie does speed skating, richie has a twin brother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:20:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 91,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21982801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/essellair/pseuds/essellair
Summary: It's only so Stan stops harrassing him that Eddie goes to that damn group therapy on sunday morning.And then maybe it's so he gets another chance to talk to that tall, curly-haired boy that he goes back the next week.ORRichie and Eddie meet in a group therapy and try to heal.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 146
Kudos: 357





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome here!
> 
> i had the idea for this story a while ago, and it was supposed to be a one shot, and it ended up being much longer than expected... oh well. this is one of my first works in english, as i usually write in french. if you see mistakes or typos anywhere, feel free to tell me! i proof-read a couple times but sometimes i still skip past things. 
> 
> this story is about healing from depression and living with anxiety. if you feel like this might trigger you, please wait until you're ready to read it. i will put trigger warnings at the beginning of each chapter when needed, though. 
> 
> for this chapter:
> 
> tw for panic attacks  
> tw for mentions of suicide  
> tw for manipulative parents

Eddie Kaspbrak has always been an anxious child.

Growing up, his mother would tell him he was fragile, and sick, and small, and he didn't know any better so of course he believed her, because she was his mother and she loved him too much to ever lie to him.

She told him so countless times.

Eddie Kaspbrak always thought he had asthma, a heart condition, countless allergies, thyroid issues, liver issues and low bone density. He carried his medication with him in a fanny pack, set up alarms on his watch to make sure he never forgot to take it, had alcohol wipes with him at all times, made sure to disinfect any surface he was in contact with.

When he was young, Eddie Kaspbrak feared sick people, germs, bacteria, mould, dirt, death and pretty much everything tangible. And then he grew up, and started fearing rejection, failure and loneliness, and he felt suffocated, and terrorized, when he discovered as a teenager that most of the medication he was taking wasn't necessary for him in the first place, and he started fearing doctors, pills, and his mother.

It felt like his entire world was falling apart, at the time. Learning that everything you ever believed in was in fact just a big fat lie changes someone. Germs seemed a lot less scary than they once were. The food he was allergic to didn't give him any reactions anymore. He could run without getting breathless.

The mind is a powerful tool.

The general feeling of anxiety, though, it stayed.

It's fair to say Eddie Kaspbrak fears a lot of things. He knows most of it is not rational, he knows he keeps making things up, seeing them way worse than he should, but it's a hard thing to control when you're absolutely clueless, and Eddie has been refusing to go to the doctor for a few years, now.

It's too much of a risk, and he can't take risks.

Long story short; Eddie Kaspbrak is twenty-one and he has really, really bad anxiety.

He's quite lucky, though, because even though he doesn't have any family apart from his mother, he's got friends that would jump off a bridge for him. Friends that support him and give him the courage he need to get through most days.

So, not all bad things, really. Eddie lives a good life, if he doesn't pay attention to the crippling fear that creeps constantly in the back of his mind, fills his lungs with water, grips hard on his chest, clouds his judgement.

Some days it gets harder to ignore.

“I can't breathe, I can't breathe! Stan I'm dying I- I can't-”

“Hey, it's okay, you're not dying, Eddie. Talk to me, tell me what you see.”

“I see, uh, your face, and your hair, and I see the stalls and the sinks and the water or piss or whatever liquid it is on the floor, I see my hands and my bitten nails and I see the stain on my left shoe. When I look in the mirror I see my ugly crying face.”

Stan smiles softly at him, waits for him to calm down and breathe again, and Eddie keeps listing the things that he sees until it works, and he can look back at his friend without feeling like he might collapse at any second. Stanley has always had this soothing presence, maybe it's something in his face or in the tone of his voice, maybe it's just him. But he's always the first person Eddie calls when he loses his grip on himself.

Eddie's face is red and wet from tears, his hair is sticking up in the air from running his hands through it so much. He looks like a complete mess and he kind of feels like one as well. He closes his eyes for a moment, inhales deeply.

Exhales. Stan's hands are on his shoulders, grounding him into reality.

Inhale.

Exhale.

“Your name is Eddie Kaspbrak.” Stan's low voice is like an anchor.

His name is Edward Kaspbrak, he's in his college's bathroom, Stanley Uris is standing in front of him. Everything is fine, he's not dying. He shudders, bats his lids a few times.

“Stan, I'm so fucking sorry.”

There's always this feeling of shame that comes afterwards, embarrassement of being so fucking _weak_ and it seems like hi mother's voice is echoing somewhere in his head. He's a weak, weak boy.

“Hey, don't be. It's okay. You know I'm always here to help.”

He takes a step back to give Eddie some space.

“Now tell me what happened.”

It's not a question; Stan never asks questions. He orders. Eddie sighs but talks nonetheless as he splashes some water in his face to cool down.

“I was thinking about school and how I'll afford next semester because my notes aren't high enough to get a scholarship this year and I'll have to pay and it's crazy expensive and I just- I spiraled, I guess.”

“Yeah, you did”, Stan chuckles, but then his face gets serious again. “I know you're tired of hearing me say it, but I really think you should go to therapy.”

Eddie sighs again, louder this time. Everytime, without any exception, it ends like that.

“I already told you I don't want to go to therapy!” he hisses.

It's true; he's said it countless times. It's not that he doesn't believe in its effects, but... he doesn't believe in its effects. What's the point in telling a stranger about his problems anyways? Apparently _it's the act of talking_ but if it's really just that, he could talk alone and save himself the embarrassement as well as hundreds of dollars.

Besides, he already tried, years ago, when he was about fourteen, and it didn't work. It was awkward and weird and the therapist had this lamp on his desk that looked like a naked lady. It was the only thing Eddie could ever focus on when he was there. He went a couple times, talked about his fears and all but then people discovered he was seeing the school therapist, and things only got worse; he started getting bullied for it and he kept getting anxious, so he decided it was not worth it and stopped going to his appointments.

It didn't make him feel any better when he did stop, though.

Maybe he knows, somewhere inside, that Stan is right and that he should at least try again. Not all psychologist look gross and have weird lamps, after all.

Just one time, but one time is already too many for Eddie. He needs a therapist to convice him to go see a therapist.

Therapy really did wonders for Stanley,though, really helped him with his OCD and general anxiety. He started at thirteen still goes every two weeks. If he had to check exactly twenty-one times to make sure his door was locked before leaving the house five years ago, he can now only check seven times, which might look like a lot, still, but is quite the improvement considering where he started.

But part of Eddie can't help but think that it won't work with him, that it'll just be another thing that makes him feel sick and weak, as if there aren't enough already.

“Dude.” Stanley turns to him, scowling. “You've had three panic attacks this week alone. It's only thuesday! Stop being so proud and just admit you have a goddamn problem.”

“I know I have a problem!” Eddie shrieks. “I know and I don't need a fucking shrink to remind me how fucked up I am.”

“You are _such_ a drama queen. Who said anything about psychologists? I was thinking more about like, group therapy or something. There's this organization that helps people with anixety issues and depression, and they have meetings where people just go and share things. It's a safe space to talk, mostly, and I think it could help you, you know, to talk to people who are not me or Beverly. Or at least just to listen to them. I went a couple times. It's nice.”

Eddie stays silent as they go down the school's stairs and enter the library. He wants to snap, wants to ask if Stan's done of his shit and if that's why he insists so much on this, but he doesn't. He bites his lower lip, takes one, two, three deep breaths.

“If I go one time, will you get off my back about it?”

Stanley grins. He knows he's won.

“Yeah. One time and I stop bothering you with that. It's a pretty good deal.”

“Alright. I'll go. Just text me the infos.” He knows he'll end up regretting this, but it's too late to back out now.

He sits down at a table and opens his books right away, diving right into his homework, not wanting to speak anymore. Stan doesn't add a thing, though, because he knows he's pushed his luck and Eddie is pissed, so he sits down in front of him and starts reading as well. They have this kind of relationship, the both of them. They piss each other off, spend a couple minutes without talking so they can collect themselves, and then they're good to go again.

Beverly joins them about thirty minutes later, her lips painted a bright red and her curly hair pulled up in a half-bun. She's always so beautiful, even when she doesn't try, and Eddie thinks that if he was into girls at all, he would definitely have fallen in love with her by now. Maybe he has, though, in a platonic kind of way, maybe he has fallen in love with her fiery red hair, the freckles that cover her face, her soft voice and her strong will. She smiles wide, chats for a bit before getting to work. The semester began only a few weeks ago, yet the three of them are already drowning in work to do.

They study in silence for a few hours, only talking to ask for a pen or an eraser, and they get out of the library by five so Eddie can catch his bus and be home before six. His mother doesn't like him being out late, especially during winter when the sky gets dark around four, and even if Eddie doesn't care about it, he hates having to listen to her ramblings about it.

He makes sure he's always home on time just so he doesn't have to sit through another speach about “stranger danger” at twenty-one.

When he gets in his mother is sitting in her usual place in her armchair, watching some random soap opera on the television, remote in her lap. She looks at him when he closes the door but doesn't linger. Her attention is back on the TV when she greets him.

“Well, don't you say hello to your mom?”

Eddie, who was trying to avoid a conversation, sighs quietly before turning to her.

“I didn't want to bother you.”

She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes, and it's like her face is frozen in place for a moment, corner of her lips slightly curved up, her side lit up by the only lamp in the room.

“You know you never bother me, Eddie-bear. Now have you taken your medication today? You know it's important you don't forget it. You are so delicate, it helps you be stronger.”

“Yeah, I took my meds, don't worry ma'. I'm going upstairs, I have homework to do.”

He doesn't wait to hear her response before turning back and running up the stairs. He closes his bedroom door behind him, takes a moment to close his eyes and breathe.

He hates living there. He hates it so much he feels physically sick everytime he enters this house, but he can't afford living alone, not yet, and so he endures, and keeps lying to his mother to avoid confrontation.

He tried standing up to her, once, when he was about fourteen, and he still remembers it like it was just yesterday, he can still hear himself scream with his shrill voice that he didn't want to take those meds, that he knew they were unenessary, that she was crazy, and he still sees the look she had on her face in his nightmares, she seemed so absolutely _broken,_ so hurt, like he had just shattered her heart to pieces, and Eddie doesn't want to see that look on her ever again, so he lies and throws his pills away when she's not looking. It's a coward's way out, but he doesn't feel like he has the strenght confront her again.

He sits down on his bed and hides his face in his hands for a few minutes. Presses on his eyes with his palms until he starts seeing shapes and colors behind his closed lids, and opens them only when he feels a vibration in his back pocket.

It's a text from Stan, with the information for the group therapy he told him about earlier.

Eddie sighs deeply but still clicks on the blue link to go read about the organization. He's still sure he'll absolutely hate it, and he already does a bit because it's far from his house and he has to ride the bus for more than thirthy minutes to get there.

What wouldn't he do to get Stanley to stop bothering him.

He decides to go on sunday morning, as he figures there'll be less people than on a thursday evening.

When he gets to bed that night, he tries to imagine what it will be like, what people will talk about, and if they'll ask him to talk about himself, because what will he say if they do? and how much people will attend exactly, and he feels the panic rise, and yeah, maybe he needs that. Maybe, just maybe, Stanley's right.

He sighs.

Fuck, he hates his life.

*

Eddie wakes up with a headache, just like everytime he sleeps after a panic attack.

He barely listens in class that morning, cannot even understand what his teacher is talking about, and leaves halfway through some detailed powerpoint presentation, taking his things with him and ignoring the curious stares he gets from the other students.

He gets up to the eleventh floor, where the art students expose their work, and sits in front of a showcase of pottery.

He searches for Beverly's one and finds it in a clear blue fruit bowl, painted with hundreds of delicate flowers.

He smiles. This is so like her.

*

Sunday comes way too fast, and soon enough, Eddie finds himself waiting for the bus in the freezing january cold, jumping in place a bit to try and stay somewhat warm.

He hates it, he decides. He hates winter and snow and the cold, and he hates taking the bus and having to go to a fucking group therapy, and he already hates everybody there, and he hates Stan for pushing him to go, and himself for accepting without more of a fight. He's so happy when the bus finally gets there he could cry. He gets inside quickly, shivering as he sits down.

There are only three persons inside besides him. Because who in their right mind would get out of the comfort of their home willingly when it's that cold on a sunday morning?

After a way too long ride, he finally gets off only to realize he's way too early. He swears under his breath as he walks towards the building, but he choses not to get inside yet, and he walks past it. He wouldn't want to be the first to arrive, that's way too awkward of a situation, and he already feels awkward enough right now, thank you very much. So he decides to suffer for a while and wanders off on the nearby streets until it's 9:50. Ten minutes early is good, he figures. Clearly there'll already be some other participants when he gets there.

The inside of the building is warm and welcoming, and the receptionist smiles at him softly, like she knows why he's here, and of course she knows, everybody comes here for the same reasons, and Eddie hates himself for being so stressed out already. He smiles back, a little tense, maybe, and takes a look around, hoping to see some clear informations so he doesn't have to ask her.

Lucky as he is, though, he sees nothing.

The receptionist must see his distress because she gets up from her desk to come talk to him.

“Are you there for the group meeting?” she asks with a light voice, and Eddie nods slightly. “Come, I'll show you were it is.”

She hovers her hand on his back, not really touching him but letting it close enough that he does kind of feel the ghost of it, and leads him in a corridor.

“You can put your coat there or take it in the room with you. You don't have to worry about having anything stolen, though, there are cameras here and there.”

She points at them, and then at the door.

“You can go and sit. It will start in about five minutes.”

Eddie does as he's told without a word. He doesn't feel like he can talk right now, his throat feels tight and he fears he won't be able to say anything coherent. In the room, the chairs are placed in a circle and Eddie spots the closest empty one and sits down. He keeps his gaze on his knees, he doesn't want to meet anyone's eyes or see their curious glances. Most of theem seem like they alreay know each other. They say hi, talk a bit, and Eddie feels like an outsider, and his heart beats too fast and he has to focus to control his breathing.

He just hopes he can make it through the hour so he can run out of here and never come back again.

In the corner of his eye he sees someone stand up and everybody falls silent.

“Hello everyone, as some of you already know, my name is Theodore, and I will be the one animating this session. We'll start by doing the presentations, so you just have to name yourselves, you don't have to add anything else if you don't want to. Afterwards, feel free to talk and vent, and engage in the discussion. Please remember to raise your hand before talking so everyone can hear what you say. We are not here to judge or to tell others what to do, we are here to share experiences and listen, so please keep that in mind. We'll start at my left for the presentations.”

He sits down, and the woman at his left start talking. Eddie is so anxious he can't even listen to what she's saying. He keeps shaking his leg and bites his lower lip. Only two people before him.

Inhale, Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

It's his turn.

“I'm Eddie.”  
  
His voice is barely a whisper, and for a moment he wonders if he actually said it out loud, until Theodore smiles at him.

“Nice to meet you, Eddie.”

He glances quickly at the people around, and nobody seems to mind that he didn't say much.

He finds it a little easier to breathe now.

Eddie zones out for a moment, deep in his thoughts, tres to put some order in his mind, to answer the questions he asks himself and to throw bad thoughts in the garbage. When he comes back up to the surface, he hears a voice, and it takes him a few moment to register the words it's saying.

“How do you know it's worth it to keep going? There's no guarantee. Maybe life will just keep sucking and I'll end up more disappointed each time. Maybe I'll never find purpose. How the fuck am I supposed to push through the rough patches when I don't even know if it'll be better when it's over? I just... you know, I just wish it was easy. I wish I could get up in the morning and not want to fucking die. Why does it have to be so damn hard?”

The guy puts his face in his hands to hide his tears. The room his silent, some people are nodding, some are wiping tears of their own, but nobody talks. They all wait for him to continue, to add something else.

Eddie feels lost there. He wants to cross the room and hug him, because he feels like that sometimes too, and he kind of wants to cry with him, and he kind of wants to run away because this is too much and frankly, he's not sure he can handle any more of it. His leg keeps shaking and he can taste the blood where he keeps biting on the inside of his lower lip.

The guy is about his age, probably barely twenty, with long, dark curly hair and thick framed glasses pulled back over his head. Tall, on the thin side, wearing a hawaiian shirt at least three sizes too big for him, ripped blue jeans and old, dirty leather boots. He takes a tissue with a trembling hand and gestures to the animator to keep going.

He lifts his gaze quickly but he lets it fall right back to his knees when he sees Eddie's stare. He sniffles, trying to regain composture, as Theodore starts talking.

“You know, there's really no way to know what will happen in the future. There's no way to know if it's worth it. You have to believe, and hope for the best. And when the rough patch it's over, it feels better, right? You have to learn to embrace this feeling instead of sabotaging your happiness with anxiety. It's a lot of work, hard work, but when you finally success, I promise you'll find it worth the while.”

Eddie lets out a shaky breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Some people raise their hand, and the discussion continues, but Eddie can't get his eyes off of the guy that was talking a few minutes ago. He's still crying silently, his shoulders trembling, and wipes his eyes with his palms.

Soon enough the hour is over and people start getting up to gather their things, ready to face the freezing cold. Eddie wishes he had the guts to... to do _something_ , but he doesn't, so he leaves quickly and walks to his bus stop without looking back.

The wind on his face feels like a blessing. It's like he was suffocating in there, and now he can finally be free. He closes is eyes for a moment.

Maybe the meeting today wasn't as bad as he had anticipated, but it was still bad, and he's glad it's over. He'll write to Stanley when he'll get in the bus, tell him everything's done and that it didn't do anything, just like he thought it would.

He takes a quick look around him when he smells cigarette smoke, ready to get away from the smoker.

It's _him,_ at his right, lighter still in hands, sucking on his cigarette like his life depends on it. Ironic, really, and Eddie resists the urge to roll his eyes, but he can't detatch them off of the stranger either. So he just keeps looking, and the stranger keeps smoking, holding his cigarette between two trembling fingers. How is he not wearing gloves? It's twenty degrees under zero, he has to be freezing, Eddie thinks.

The bus arrives a few seconds later, and they both get inside quickly, Eddie behind him so he's not seen. The guy sits at the first available seat and Eddie keeps walking to the back of the bus, sits next to a twenty-something stranger with soft, light brown hair. They glance at each other but quickly go back to their own things, and Eddie doesn't look back up when he hears him scream next to him.

“Hey, trashmouth! Over here!”

And then just in front of him, there's a pair of old, dirty leather boots and ripped blue jeans. He shivers as he lifts his gaze to see the stranger from before sitting before him, as huge grin on his face as he talks to his friend.

“Big Bill, my man. Fancy seeing you here. How 'you doing?”

His voice is so different from before that for a short while Eddie isn't sure he's the same person. He sounds so much more confident, his shoulders squared and his eyes gleaming with something like happinness. He's loud and cocky and sure of himself, and he smiles wide at his friend, as if nothing happened earlier. As if he wasn't sobbing in front of thirty strangers not even an hour ago.

He turns his gaze to Eddie, and his eyes get wide, a flash of panic crossing them, but when Eddie stays silent and turns to look out of the window he visibly relaxes and continues his conversation with “Big Bill”.

“So, my dearest, what are you doing in this fine neighborhood on a sunday morning?”

“Dude, I could ask you the s-same thing, I texted you a bunch! It's so unlike you to n-not answer your texts.”

“Meh, I had a thing.” His gaze flicks to Eddie. “Anyways, you free tonight? Let's get high. I've got some new weed I wanna try out.”

The keep talking for a few minutes until Bill gets up to leave, and then it's just Eddie and him, sitting in front of each other in awkward silence.

Eddie can see him fidgeting with his bag's zipper from the corner of his eye.

“So, it was your first time, right?”

Eddie is so startled he nearly falls off his seat. The guy is looking at him with a curious stare, his fingers still fiddling with his bag. Eddie can't help but notice that the nails are bitten and that the skin around them is all torn and butchered.

“What?”

“The therapy thing. Was it your first time? I've never seen you there.”

“Oh, um, yeah, I've never been here before”, he says, trying to keep his voice steady.

“You didn't talk.”

“I didn't know it was mandatory.”

“It's not. It's just... talking help. That's why you came today, no? To get help?”

Eddie stares at him. Through his glasses, he can see his eyes are nervous, and he doesn't especially understand why, because he was the one that started talking to him in the first place, but then again, not everybody completely shuts down when they are stressed out.

“I mean- yeah, I guess. My friend told me about it. I'm not... I'm not sure I'll come back though.”

“Why?”

“It stresses me out. Talking to strangers about my fears and all... I don't know. I'm not sure I'm ready for this. It feels ironic to have anxiety and talk about it in front of a bunch of strangers.”

“You don't have to talk if you don't want to. Sometimes it's just comforting to see that you're not alone.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“I'm here every week” he says, getting up, “so it won't be _all_ strangers next time you come.”

He smiles softly, and Eddie can't help but relax a bit, because his presence is so calming, and yes, maybe he'll come back next week, just to see him again. Maybe. He tries to tame the butterflies that pop up in his stomach at the thought of it, and silently hopes his cheeks are not getting too red.

“You're still a stranger, though. I don't know your name.”

“Right. My name. I'm Richie. Nice to meet you...” he trails off.

“Eddie.”

“Eddie. Cute name for a cute guy. Nice to meet you, Eds.”

It's only when he gets off the bus that Eddie allows himself to smile. It's weird because he usually hates being called cute, or nicknames, or anything that can slitghtly compare him to a child, but from Richie, it sounded genuine and not mocking, and he actually... he actually liked it.

When he gets home, that night, he texts Stan to tell him that maybe the group therapy wouldn't be such a bad thing, after all.

*

When Eddie gets to school on monday, Stanley and Beverly are waiting for him at their usual place in the student-run cafe, a huge grin plastered on their face. He resists the urge to turn around and leave and he keeps walking towards them, getting mentally ready to answer all their questions. Judging by their look, they have lots of things to say.

“Soooooo...” Beverly starts as soon as he sits down next to her.

“So, how was your weekend?” Eddie replies, trying to buy some time.

“So, don't fuck with us! What kind of miracle made you change your mind about group therapy?” Stan asks right away.

“I was trying to avoid the subject, Stan, can't you take a hint?”

“I can, but I chose not to. Don't try to deflect. What happened?”

Eddie rolls his eyes. He knows he can't win this, because he's a shitty liar and his friends can always see right through him, and even deep down inside, he kinda wants to tell them about Richie. He hates himself for that, but he speaks nonetheless.

“It was weird, but like, not in a bad way, I guess. I was so fucking stressed out I actually didn't listen for most of the hour, but then there was this guy that started talking and he sounded so sad and broken and he cried a bit and I wanted to hug him, you know? But then we took the same bus home, and I was sitting next to his friend – trust me if I had known I'd have sat somewhere else – and so he comes and sits right in front of me, and he recognized me because when his friend left he actually talked to me? Like who does that? And he asked if it was my first time going there and all, and he was really sweet, and he told me he was there every week so next time it would't be all strangers and, I don't know, it made me want to go back? I... guess I kinda want to see him again.”

Beverly and Stanley share a knowing look, both smirkng.

“So the miracle was a guy. I should've guessed that.”

“What did he look like?”

They both talk at the same time, Stan smug and Bev excited, and as much as he's bashful about all of this, Eddie feels a wave of love submerging him.

He is so, so lucky to be friends with them.

Sometimes he fears they'll judge him, like most people did, and still do, because he has his quirks, but they always prove him wrong. He was so anxious to come out to them when he was eighteen, he didn't want to lose them, but they just smiled and opened their arms when he said it and started crying right after, and they hugged him until all of hiss stress disappeared, and Beverly kissed his cheek and Stanley kissed his forehead and they told him they'd love him no matter what.

To this day, he still tends to forget that, and whenever he has something just a little bit personnal to admit them, he suffocates.

It only takes them a few second to teach him how to breathe again.

Stanley goes to class a few minutes after, and then it's just Bev and Eddie. They decide to go up to the library until their classes start, and Bev ends up searching for Richie on social media.

“I think I found him on instagram!”

She turns her phone to Eddie to show him a picture of Richie with a huge smile and braces, hair looking wild and both his arms thrown around the shoulders of Bill and some other guy.

“God, he looks like such a nerd”, she says, but Eddie can hear her smile in her words, and he knows she doesn't mean it in a bad way.

Turns out, Richie is quite active on instagram, with one, sometimes two posts a day, and Eddie scrolls through it, careful not to like any pictures. It's creepy enough to be stalking him, it would be the worst if Richie actually learned it. On every single one of his pictures, Richie is always smiling widely, and adding funny captions, and Eddie can't help but think that he looks so different from the broken boy he saw crying last sunday.

He wishes he could hide his emotions as well.

*

The rest of the week goes by fast enough, between health classes and P.E., and soon enough the weekend rolls by, and Eddie can feel his heart beating faster every minute. If it keeps going like that, he will die before sunday.

He goes to the ice rink on friday night to train a bit; he's been slowing down on his trainings in the past week and he has to be more serious with it if he wants to compete for his school in june. The qualifications are in three months, and he really needs the scholarship that the first place will get.

Eddie started speed skating at fifteen to piss offhis mom, and it turned out he quite liked it in the end, so he just never stopped. Ever since he discovered he didn't really have asthma, he started running and moving to make up for all the wasted time. Sports are part of his daily routine, now.

His mother is waiting for him when he gets home that night, way past six.

“Eddie-bear! I was so worried, you know I hate it when you're out this late. Where were you?”

“I was at the ice rink. Skating.”

“You know what I think about that sport, Eddie-bear, I don't like you doing it. It's dangerous, and you could hurt yourself! Remember when you broke your arm?”

Eddie grits his teeth, take a deep breath. He is not in a good mood for this.

“It was years ago, 'ma, you have to stop bringing it up. Sports are good for my health.”

“But you're so fragile! You have low bone density! You-”

“Please, mom. Stop. I take my meds, I respect my sleep schedule, let me at least have this. It's not like I'm doing meth in some shady alley. I'm twenty-one. I'm pretty sure I can handle ice skating.”

He goes up to his room before giving her the time to add anything, and drops his stuff next to his bed with a sigh. His thighs already feel sore, he really has to up his game and be more serious about this.

It's the perfect sport for Eddie: it allows him to go faster than his thoughts, so he can free his mind for a few minutes, it's competitive, and it's a solo thing. He doesn't have to talk, he just does his thing and tries to be the fastest.

It also doesn't hurt that he's pretty good at it.

He takes a long, hot shower, and gets out only when his skin feels red and raw, and he gets into bed quickly, his phone in hands. He texts Bev and Stan for a while before wishing them good night, but as he's closing his texts application, he sees the little instagram icon and thinks _why not_.

He looks at Richie's profile pic for a moment. It has to be a little old, at least, because he doesn't have braces anymore, but he still looks the same.

Eddie smiles to himself, inhales, then turns off his screen.

*

He barely sleeps during the night, and wakes up on saturday morning incredibly tired but overly energetic at the same time. He knows it's the stress and he tries some breathing techniques to calm down a bit.

When he turns on his phone, instagram is still open on Richie's profile and he looks at the new picture he uploaded some hours earlier. It's a blurry, closed-up selfie of him without glasses, with the caption “ _ayye i woke up like this tell me i look hot”_

Eddie thinks he'd look hot from any angle, then immediately slaps himself for having thought something so pathetic. God, he doesn't know how he'll be able to manage tomorrow when he actually sees him in person.

He washes his sheets, then goes to the gym to do a bit of lifting. A few years ago, he wouldn't have believed the person that told him that one day he would enjoy sports and actually be good at them, and it still feels surreal sometimes, when he looks in the mirror and doesn't see the frail, small boy he used to be.

Not that he looks like a bodybuilder, he's far from it, in fact, but his shoulders are definitely larger, and his legs are a lot more muscular thanks to speed skating. And even though it still surprises him from time to time, he likes it. He likes wearing short shorts and showing off his thighs, he likes being stronger, and he loves being... actually healthy.

He stops by the grocery store on his way home to buy some food, and spends the rest of the day doing homework.

His mother leaves him alone, watches her shows in the living room, only moving to eat or go to the bathroom.

On sunday morning he gets up early and takes his time to chose an outfit, until he receives a few texts from Stan and Beverly in their group chat.

_**Stan** _

_Good morning. Please come back to us alive on monday._

_I know you're anxious, just don't forget to breathe._

_**Bev <3** _

_eddie!! text us when it's over, i neeeeed to know what happens_

_also plz send us sneaky pics of him_

_**Stan** _

_Beverly, these meetings are supposed to be somewhat anonymous._

_**Bev <3** _

_it doesn't count if it's just us_

_**Stan** _

_Yes, it does._

_(But please take a picture of him in the bus, Eddie.)_

_**Eddie** _

_i am most definitely not going to take any pictures today_

_**Stan** _

_Lame._

Eddie rolls his eyes with a smile. As much as Stanley can look serious and borderline boring, he's actually one of the funniest people Eddie has met in his life. He's always so quick-witted and sarcastic, and says thing with so much seriousness it's sometimes hard to know when he's joking or not, but it gets easier the more you know him.

Eddie's so stressed out and anxious to be late that he leaves way too early, and even if the bus ride seems impossibly long, he arrives nearly an hour before 10. It's like he didn't learn his lesson last week.

And so he walks around, trying not to freeze in place, until he bumps right into someone. When he lifts his head, he has to blink a few times, because there is no fucking way he just walked straight into Richie.

And yet...

He did.

Richie smiles at him but Eddie can't even try to smile back, his face so numb from the cold, and surprise actually paralyzing him.

“You know the center's the other way, right?”

His brain takes a moment to reboot, during which Eddie just stares awkwardly, until he finally feels he can talk without looking like a complete idiot.

“Yeah, well, I kinda got here early, so I was walking around, you know.”

“At thirty under zero? Why didn't you just get in?

“I...” he trails off, realizing there's really no reason why he stayed outside. “I was nervous, I guess. I don't know. Feels awkward.”

Richie nods knowingly, no sign of judgement in his eyes.

“I'm here now. Let's go, I'm fucking freezing."

He holds out his hand, and Eddie takes it.

The receptionist smiles at them when they get in, and they sit together on a couch in the waiting room.

“I'm happy you came back, you know.”

It's hard not to read into it, it really is, but then again, Richie's smile is blinding and his gaze is so sincere, that Eddie thinks maybe he's not imagining anything, and maybe, just maybe, there's more to it than it seems at first.

It's weird how fast his heart is beating, and yet he feels so incredibly good, and lightheaded but in a good way, and he can feel the heat right where their thighs are brushing against each other's, and a small shiver down his spine, and even though he's still so nervous, it's suddenly... not that bad.

“I'm happy I came back too”, he lets out eventually, and Richie's smile grow even wider.

They sit next to eachother, this time, and Eddie recognizes a few faces. Theodore smiles at them when they enter the room, and he smiles back, ignoring the anxiety building up inside his chest. When everybody is seated, he asks them how their week went, and people talk, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, sharing their problems and joys and fears.

Richie talks too.

He talks about the fight he had with his brother, about how at some point he felt like jumping off a bridge, but he also talks about his friends and their nerdy game night, and about the things his therapist told him, and about the guy he met on the bus, and how he's happy because he gets to see him again today.

He doesn't cry, but sometimes his voice falters, and he has to take a break before starting back again.

Eddie doesn't know when he'll be ready to share, but he has to admit that it's inspiring to hear people help each other, and it's true that it makes him feel less alone. He almost talks when someone talks about their overbearing mother, but he decides against it in the end. Maybe another day, when he feels stronger. He's way to proud to cry in front of so many strangers. He feels Richie's gaze on him sometimes, when somebody talks about anxiety, and he tries his best to ignore it and the way it burns the side of his face.

When the animator calls out the end, he doesn't stand up right away. It's still so much to take at the same time. Richie stays right next to him in silence, watching him breathe deeply, and follows him when he's ready to get out.

They walk to the bus stop together, and Richie lights up a cigarette when they get there. He stops himself when he sees Eddie's face, though.

“Does it bother you?”

“No, I mean, yes, maybe a bit, but don't stop living your life for me, just don't blow the smoke right into my face and it's good.”

“Ok, then maybe we should switch places, because of the wind.”

They do, and Richie smokes quickly, like he wants to get it done, before turning back to Eddie.

“You still didn't talk today”, he states, but there is no harshness in his voice. “I'm kinda sad 'cause I like the sound of your voice.”

He winks, and Eddie thanks the cold he can blame for his red cheeks.

“I can talk to you outside of therapy, you know.”

“Yeah, I guess you can.”

They both laugh softly but don't add anything until the bus arrives, and they sit in the back, one in front of the other, just like last time.

Richie's legs are so long he has to sit diagonally so Eddie still has some space, and he picks at a bit of skin on his thumb. The two of them are so focused on it during a moment that they don't make a sound, until it starts to bleed and Richie brings it to his mouth to suck the blood off it.

“So why do you do group therapies anyways?” Eddie asks, breaking the silence.

Richie makes a face but answers nonetheless.

“I... kinda tried to kill myself about a year ago. I was hospitalized in a mental health institude for a few weeks and they diagnosed me with chronic depression and borderline personality disorder. The full deal, you know, and my psychiatrist told me about it, and I mean, I had literally nothing else to lose, so I just tried and it stuck. I love being with people and I fucking love talking so it just felt natural, I guess. Plus I didn't want to bother my friends with it so I needed to vent to some other people.”

Eddie thinks about Bill, and how he doesn't know.

“Why don't you tell them?”

“I don't know. It's just, I'm like, the goof and I'm always laughing and telling jokes and I guess I don't want them to see me differently? I don't want fucking _pity._ I just want things to stay the same without them watching their every word when we're together because they're afraid it'll trigger me or something. It's the worst damn feeling.”

Eddie fights hard not to reach for his hand. He really wants to take it into his, intertwine their fingers together, and maybe even put a kiss on its back, but he knows he can't do it. It doesn't make him want it any less, though.

“Do you really think they're that kind of people?”

“Oh, I know they're not. It's just the excuse I keep giving myself to justify me not telling them”, he laughs, and then: “It would be nice to go for coffee or something sometime this week.”

Eddie tenses up in disbelief, because there is no way this is happening, there is no freaking way Richie just said that to him, invited him to do something, implied he wanted to see him more and _outside_ of therapy.

His mouth opens and closes a few time while he thinks of what to say, because at this very moment his mind is completely blank.

“I- I don't drink coffee”, he stutters finally, and that's just _great._

Richie's face falls, his brows slitghly raised. He's not even trying to hide his disappointment.

“Oh”, he lets out after a few seconds, “Okay, I mean, I thought- nevermind.”

He gets up and leaves so quickly Eddie doesn't even have the chance to add a “but”.

He hates himself so much he wants to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it is! hope you liked it, tell me what you think!  
> i'm in the editing process of the second chapter right now so hopefully it shouldn't take too long for me to post lol


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 2 is here! 
> 
> chapter will probably come out pretty fast because the whole story in itself is written and complete, i'm just in the editing process right now, and the first few i've already proof read a couple times. so yeah, great news if you're not very patient, i guess!  
> no trigger warnings apply for this chapter, it's mostly just fluff and Richie being Richie. It's a bit shorter but I promise chapters only get longer from now on! 
> 
> i had a lot of fun writing it, hope you enjoy <3

Richie Tozier will admit that he cried because of Eddie's rejection over his dead body. He gets out of the bus way before his usual stop, and walks the rest of the way home, angrily wiping tears with the back of his hands.

Being nineteen and gay and having so many fucking emotions is really not his ideal life, and it's even less so when he has to handle some stupidly cute boy telling him he “doesn't drink coffee”. What the fuck is that supposed to mean, anyways? It's not like the coffee was mandatory. They could have gone anywhere for all that mattered, and Richie wouldn't have cared.

_I don't drink coffee._

He wishes Eddie was the kind of guy to say yes and then never get back to him about it. He's sure it would have hurt less.

_I don't drink coffee._

He says nothing when he gets home, slams the door rather loudly behind him. His mom shoots him a worried glance from the kitchen and he ignores her, instead nearly running down the stairs to his bedroom. He lets himself fall face first on his bed, grunts loudly in his pillows.

God, he feels like such a teenager right now, it's not even funny. It's like he's that secretly emo and angsty Richie he was four years ago, getting all worked up over basically nothing and hating himself for it.

As far as he can remember, he's always been so incredibly emotional, and his psychologist says it's a gift, really, to be able to live life with such intensity, but as much as he loves the moments of joy and happiness, Richie absolutely hates the other moments when he feels sad. And boy, does he get sad easily.

People used to mock him for it when he was young. Richie can still hear Henry Bower's voice laughing at him when he got to school with his face all red and puffed up because his dog died the day before, or when he was trying to hold back his tears after seeing this graffiti in the bathroom, _Richie Tozier is a faggot,_ it read, or when they watched Dead Poets Society in class and he had to hide in a tissue in hope nobody would notice him sobbing in the back of the room.

“Stop being such a pussy, Tozier”, he mutters in his pillow, and almost immediately slaps himself after. Internal mysoginy and all that. He's not that kind of guy; he doesn't want to use those terms but they slip through sometimes, and he can't help but feel guilty when it happens.

He gets up after a few minutes, his tears dry on his cheeks and his eyes burning. He glances at his reflection in the mirror, sighs deeply. He really looks like a mess; it's no wonder Eddie doesn't want anything to do with him.

He used to be so mad at his parents when he was younger for making him so awkward-looking and giving his brother, his _twin brother,_ all of the good genes. What's ironic is that they really are identical twins: same height, same weight, same bone structure and dark curls, but his brother's long legs don't look as thin on him, his skin isn't so white, his hair isn't so unmanageable and his eyes can acctually do their job well and see. Twins, but not really, because one of them is way, way more handsome than the other, or so Richie thinks.

A soft knock on his door makes him jump slightly and he turns to see his mother's head pop in his room.

“Everything good, honey?”

Her voice is soft and prudent, like she knows he could explode any moment, because he's fragile, he's always been fragile, and his mom is aware of it more than anyone else. She enters the room fully and closes the door quietly behind her when she hears him sigh shakily, and takes him in her arms.

She's only just a few inches shorter than him, they're all tall in his family, and Richie rests his chin on her shoulder, closing his eyes, trying desperately to blink back the tears.

“Why did you make me this way?” he whispers in her neck, and she tightens her hug until he can barely breathe.

“Richard, you are such a sensitive soul, and you have to stop living your life like it's a bad thing. There are things you can't change about you and this is one of them. I wish you could love yourself the way I love you.”

She takes a step back only to take his face in her hands and look straight in his eyes.

“What happened this morning that made you think about that?”

“I don't wanna talk about it”, he mutters, breaking eye contact in favor of looking at his feet. He feels so ridiculous. What would he say, anyways? _I got turned down by a stranger_? Because that's basically it.

“Ok, you know I won't force you to talk if you don't feel like it, but maybe you can come upstairs with me and help me with the food? The Hanscoms are coming over for dinner tonight and I'm trying to impress them.”

She grins, and Richie can't help but smile back. He likes the Hanscoms. They're sweet people and he's good friend with their son Ben. He's kind of a nerd, like him, so they get along well, and Ben is probably one of the most genuinely caring person he knows. He's also his only friend that somewhat knows about his mental health, because Richie has called him in the middle of the night more times than he can count, tired and desperate and anxious. Ben always has the volume up on his phone during the night, just in case Richie would call again.

Their moms met at their bookclub a couple years ago and became pretty good friends pretty quick, and since the Toziers always loved having people around, they invite them over for dinner a couple times a month.

And so Richie spends the afternoon cooking with his mom, and she lets him do the design on the pie, albeit she rolls her eyes when she sees the dick he's cut in the dough. His brother gets up a little while later, just before one, looking like he hasn't slept at all.

“Harsh night, Liam?” Richie asks when he sees him sit at the table, looking a little pale, and maybe a little greenish, too.

“Why are you so fucking loud? I just got up.” Liam mutters back, pressing on his temples with his middle fingers.

“I'm not that loud, THIS IS LOUD”, Richie screams, and his brother winces.

Reaching for a mixing bowl below the counter, Maggie Tozier rolls her eyes at the bickering of her sons.

“Children, please behave”, she says calmly as she gets up.

When she turns her back to them, they both mouth _fuck you_ to each other, but don't add anything else out loud.

It's weird, because they were very close when they were younger. They would fight, like any ten-year-old boys do, but make up quickly, and forget anything happened in the first place. But as they grew older, they also grew apart, their fights became more serious, and they stopped apologizing, and then they stopped caring altogether.

Their high school years were weird and frustrating, because they were starting to build up their own identity, and they tried so hard to look, to be different from one another, that they started acting like complete strangers, even at home, until their parents lost patience and told them to get their shit together.

Liam became one of the cool kids, and Richie one of the losers, and they wouldn't even acknowledge the fact that they were twins, instead brushing it off when people would ask if they were related. Liam did nothing to help Richie while he was bullied and mocked in the corridors, and Richie would pull nasty pranks on him, to try and humiliate him in front of his cool friends.

Now that they're both nineteen they don't do those kind of things anymore, but that doesn't mean their relationship is any better than it was; proof being that they can't spend thirty seconds in the same room before picking on each other.

Liam leaves a while after, promising to be back for dinner, and Richie focuses back on the potatoes he's peeling, trying not to cut himself. He's not a very good cook, and he's not very quick either, but at least he tries, and it makes his mom happy. Wentworth comes back from the grocery store around two, bags full of food and wine and Richie's favourite cereals. He kisses his wife on the cheek, and then his son, because there is no place for toxic masculinity in the Tozier household.

“How was therapy this morning, Richard?” he asks as he puts everything in the fridge, playing tetris with tupperwares and vegetables so everything can fit.

“T'was fine”, Richie mutters, and even though he sees the curious glance his dad shoots his mom, he doesn't say anything else.

When the Hanscoms arrive around five, dinner is in the oven and Maggie even had time to put on mascara and a bit of eyeshadow. Richie does a little small-talk to be polite, and then steals Ben to bring him downstairs. They talk about the new Avengers movie that's coming out soon, Ben talks about books and history, Richie talks about music and painting.

They both feel like teenagers when they hear their parents calling them upstairs for dinner.

And even though he feels quite good when he gets into bed that night, Richie can't help but see Eddie's face everytime he tries to close his eyes.

_I don't drink coffee._

*

Richie wakes up at five on monday morning.

The usual.

Knowing there's no way he'll be able to fall back to sleep, he gets up, and heads directly to the shower.

He thinks about Eddie. About his “I don't drink coffee” deal. About his cute face and his big eyes and his plump lips. He sighs. He can already feel it's gonna be a long fucking week.

He stays under the hot water for a while, just thinking with his eyes closed, and gets out only when he feels it become colder.

He takes his medication (20mg of Adderall, 262.5mg of Effexor, 300mg of Wellbutrin), puts on a coat and heads outside for a morning cigarette.

He usually doesn't smoke that early, but today, today he feels like he needs it. He's still super worked up about the whole Eddie situation, and the taste of the nicotine helps him calm down. He waits for his thoughts to slow down, because at the moment it feels like a storm inside his head, his own voice telling him he's not worth it, telling him nothing will ever get better, and Richie keeps the smoke in his lungs for as long as he can manage before choking on it. He's dizzy when he finally lets it out.

“Damn, dude, am I interrupting a moment?”

Liam's voice startles him so much he drops his cigarette in the snow with a yelp. He turns to his brother, who's standing inside behind a window he's just opened, grining.

“You should really dress warmer, if you don't want to catch a cold on top of your cancer.”

“Kindly shut the fuck up, Liam”, Richie replies as he gets back inside, shivering. “What the fuck are you doing up this early anyways? Isn't that like, the time you go to bed usually?”

His brother shrugs.

“Am I not allowed to be an early bird once a year? Or is that role exclusive to you?”

Richie choses to ignore him and opens the fridge to get some milk instead. He will not fight with his brother at 6 in the morning on a fucking monday. No way. He pours some in a bowl and only then he adds cereal, ignoring his brother's annoyed glance.

That's one of the things they fight about constantly, and it's really fucking ridiculous. Nearly every time Liam witnesses Richie eating cereals, he rants about how he's “not doing it correctly” and “ruining it”. Richie just likes knowing exactly how much milk there is in his bowl, and he always snaps back with some playground-level insult that has no meaning.

_You're ruining your face, idiot!_

“I've been seeing this girl”, Liam blurts out, and even he looks surprised with himself, but he still continues. “She's a hardcore morning person so I'm like, giving it a try, I guess. See what's so special about the mornings.”

“You should go watch the sunrise with her one day. Bet she'll swoon over how romantic you are.”

His brother stays silent for a while, considering him, unsure if he's being messed with or not. He decides on the latter.

“Yeah, maybe I will.”

None of them add anything afterwards, and they eat breakfast in silence. Richie texts Mike to know if he can come over. He doesn't have classes until this afternoon and he doesn't feel like being alone. The answer comes almost immediately.

_**Mikey** _

_of course you can come over_

_also i wanna hear all about that Pretty Boy™_

_**Trashmouth** _

_dude_

_there's literally nothing to say_

_i've been, how do you say_

_rejected_

_**Mikey** _

_what?? impossible_

No, Mike, really fucking possible, he thinks as he heads towards his friend's place.

Mike is 22, and he's been living alone for a while, now, and Richie is absolutely thankful for it, and for him, because he gave him a key, told him he was always welcome, and Richie never felt so accepted, and it felt so good to be cared for, and he puts his key to good use now. Most days, Mike will come home to find Richie either asleep on his couch, or drawing on the corner of the table. Apparently, the lighting is better in his kitchen. He never complains.

When he gets there, Richie feels a bit nervous. He know he'll have to talk about Eddie, and he doesn't feel like it because it'll most likely make him want to cry _again,_ and he's had enough of it. He barely knows the boy, for fuck's sake, it's not the end of the world, he repeats to himself in a loop, but the words feel fake.

_It's not the end of the world stop thinking about it it's not the end of the world not the end of the world just stop_

Mike greets him with a latte and a warm smile.

“So? What happenned? Thought you said he looked into you.”

Richie cringes but brushes it off quickly, and instead puts on a wide grin, like he always does, in any circumstance, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

“Guess I was wrong! I told him we should go for a coffee sometime and you know what he says? _I don't drink coffee!_ Like alrighty dude but wow, rude.”

He sounds a lot less careless than he intented too, and Mike obviously hears it in his voice, because he raises an eyebrow at him.

“You know you don't have to pretend like you don't give a fuck. I thought we were past this point.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, clearly unimpressed.

“Alright, alright” Richie lifts his hands with a half-smile, “I guess you could say I'm pissed. Or disappointed. Or both. Pisspointed, maybe. Disapissed. In my defense, he's really hot, like, way-out-of-my-league kinda hot, dare I even say a bit hotter than you – no offense – so maybe I was reaching.”

Mike makes a show of rolling his eyes.

“Did he say anything else?”

“No, I left right after. Wasn't even my stop, I had to walk for like a half hour, I was freezing. Whatever. You won't believe what happened this morning”, he rambles, eager to change the subjet. “Liam actually woke up. We _talked._ Apparentely the motherfucker is dating some girl. I don't know what kind of person she has to be to date my brother, but clearly she's making a huge mistake. So yeah, anyways, I signed you up to be a model for my next portrait class. We're gonna analyze your face, maybe I'll finally discover how you manage to always look so fucking good. Also my mom baked pie yesterday and I brought you a piece-”

One thing Richie loves about Mike is that he never tries to get him to stop talking. He'll just listen to his incoherent blabber for hours sometimes, interrupting him here and there to ask a question or to comment, but he never asks him to shut up. It makes Richie feel warm inside.

They met at a party a few years ago, in summer when Mike was new in town and just getting into college, and Richie had smoked weed for the first time and he was so high he thought he might die, and when Mike found him badtripping in the bathroom he didn't laugh like someone else would have, he just took him outside and told him about the stars and the cosmos and the universe and they looked at the night sky together.

They just kept talking afterwards, and Richie became Mike's first friend in town.

The sun gets higher in the sky and Mike gets ready to leave for work. He tells Richie not to forget to lock the door when he leaves (because it happened countless times before – he even forgot to _close it_ once and they had to fight a particulary angry squirrel that didn't want to leave the bedroom), and then he's gone, and Richie is alone with his thoughts.

He decides to get to school early, for a change, and manages to do a bit of his homework before completely losing interest.

His mind wanders.

*

“I think I want a navel piercing.”

“Dude, what the f-fuck.”

Bill is looking at him across the bedroom, clearly unimpressed by his sudden idea, but he did stop writing his essay to listen, so that means he's at least a little bit curious.

“I want a navel piercing”, Richie repeats, looking at his belly button.

He's laying on his bed, his shirt lifted up to his ribs, both hands on his stomach. Bill's been doing some work for a while now but Richie can't focus that long, and so he starts getting ideas. It's not his worst one.

“Think about it”, he says, “They're hot. Plus there's like so much choice of jewlery. I'd buy one of those that have charms dangling at the bottom.”

Bill chuckles and closes his laptop; he knows he won't get any more work done today. And it's not like he got nothing done, in fact, he's quite surprised Richie managed to stay calm that long. They usually do actual homework for like, thirty minutes on their homework nights, so an hour and a half is quite amazing.

“I think if there's a guy that c-can pull it off, it's definitely you”, he states, matter-of-factly, and Richie smiles wide.

“Right? And it'll give me another reason to wear crop tops when Liam invites people over to piss him off. He hates it when I make his friends uncomfortable.”

They laugh because it's true; when they were teenagers, they used to give a show and kiss loudly whenever Liam would invite girls over, and he would get so angry at them. Richie always loved that Bill was willing to do anything. He was fearless like that. He could kiss boys and get into fights and spend a whole day with a broken tow before getting to the hospital. He didn't even wince when they gave each other a stick and poke tattoo on their ankle.

They were thirteen and complete idiots, had bought a tattoo kit off amazon and went at it in Bill's basement, blind to the fact that this was very unsanitary and that their tattoos would come out looking like shit.

Bill's smiley face is crooked and Richie's has uneven eyes, but they were still super proud when it was over. Richie still remembers coming home and telling his parents with a huge smile, and them looking aboslutely horrified when they saw it.

Ah, to be young again.

“By the way, you didn't t-tell me how it went with your mysterious stranger l-last weekend.”

Richie curses silently, reminding himself never to speak of those things again to his friends. It's all fun and games until he gets rejected.

“Yeah, turns out he's not into me”, he mumbles, hoping it's enough of an answer to satisfy Bill.

Of course, he's wrong.

“What? What happened?”

“Nothing much. He just made it clear he wasn't interested.”

“Sucks. But at least, you don't have to s-see him anymore. Just take the bus later.”

Yeah, he wishes it was that simple, really, but what Bill and Mike don't know, is that they didn't really meet on the bus. He still hasn't told them about the therapy, and everything else, and he doesn't say that he'll probably see Eddie tomorrow too, even if he really doesn't feel like it.

*

When he wakes up on sunday morning, Richie considers just skipping the group therapy altogether and going another day instead. It would be much easier, and a lot less awkward, but then again, he knows his actual therapist wouldn't be proud of him, especially since he's always telling him to stop trying to avoid situations.

And so he gets up, eats breakfast with his dad, and bounces his leg in the bus until he finally gets out. He really hopes, selfishly, that Eddie's not there today.

But Richie's life hates him, because the first person he sees when in gets in the room is, obviously, Eddie.

Looking all nervous, as if he hadn't been the one telling him off last week, biting his lower lip and avoiding eye contact.

Richie sighs loudly as he sits in his usual spot, far away from him, and he decides he'll just act like he's not there until he actually believes it.

Theodore greets them warmly, and then people start talking, and from the corner of his eye, Richie can see Eddie fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt. About halfway in, he decides it's too much, and he gets up to leave.

He tries not to make a scene out of it, but it's hard not to, when you are the only one walking out the door in a group therapy, and he walks past the receptionist without a word, hands trembling as he reaches in his back pocket for a cigarette and his lighter. He slumps against the brick wall, trying to control his breathing, to stop hearing all those voices in his head.

He lets out a whimper.

Breathe in, count to three, breathe out, count to three.

Repeat.

He jumps when he hears the door open next to him, quickly straightens up, trying to regain composture, until he sees Eddie, with his big wide eyes staring right at him. He's holding a metal cup in his hands, lips slightly parted, coat still open. He looks like he left in a hurry.

“I... I don't drink coffee”, he starts, and Richie wants to yell _no shit you don't drink coffee you literally told me last week what the fuck is your problem,_ but he says nothing, and instead stares at the street in front of him, jaw tight. “but you didn't let me finish, last time”, Eddie continues. “I still drink other things.”

He holds out his cup, and Richie realizes he's giving it to _him,_ and he takes it hesitantely. It feels warm on his fingers, and slowly, he brings it up to his mouth to take a sip.

It's hot chocolate.

_Fucking_ hot chocolate, warm and sweet and creamy and the best damn thing Richie's ever tasted in his whole damn life.

He does feel a bit pathetic about his reaction now, though.

“Thank you”, he whispers, barely audible, and Eddie beams, smile wide and eyes shiny.

“Wanna get out of here?” he asks, and Richie nods, smiling back.

It doesn't take him much longer to regain the ability to talk properly, and soon enough, he's chatting happily, hands moving all over the place in excitement, Eddie walking next to him.

“I swear to god this is the best damn thing I ever drank in my life, Eds, like how the fuck can you make hot chocolate taste so amazing? It's just two ingredients, but wow, I don't know, maybe you use some weird-ass snake milk or something, but I wouldn't even care because it's so good-”

And he goes on, and on, and on.

They get to a little breakfast place, and even though Richie ate only a few hours ago, he doesn't complain. He orders strawberry waffles, raises a suprised eyebrow at Eddie when he orders the “trucker breakfast”.

“What?” Eddie snaps when he sees him looking.

“I'm just thinking about where the fuck you gonna hide all this food. Who would've thought a tiny thing like you could eat like a trucker?”

“Ok, first of all-” Eddie stops himself in his rant to smile at the waitress when she brings them their glasses of water, only to start again immediately after she turns her back. “First of all, I'm not tiny, I'm very average height, thank you very much, and second, I went to the gym earlier, so I'm _hungry._ ”

“The _gym_.”

Richie raises his eyebrows suggestively, trying to keep the attention away from the slight blush on his cheeks. He's always only seen Eddie with a winter coat on, or some huge hoodie, but the idea of him having strong arms and a six pack is quite endearing. They get their plates, and Eddie's is about his own size. There's no way he can eat all of that.

He chuckles as Eddies rolls his eyes and shoves a piece of bacon in his mouth.

“Yeah, the gym. Why do you think I've got all these bags for?” he asks, gesturing at them on the ground.

“I don't know, I guess I thought you were just a diva or something. You really need all this stuff just to lift some weights?”

“Okay, fu-” he holds a finger, takes a bite of egg, “fuck you, I'm not a diva. And I don't just 'lift some weights' as you so eloquently put it. You know, I really regret taking my time to prepare you that hot chocolate this morning, you definitely don't deserve it.”

He says it with a smile, though, so Richie doesn't worry, and instead he keeps picking on him, enjoying his quick comebacks.

Eddie, as it turns out, eats as fast as he talks, and empties his plate in a matter of minutes, while Richie is still only starting to eat his waffle. It is quite impressive, really.

“You really thought that was me turning you down, last week, when I told you I didn't drink coffee?” Eddie asks eventually, and Richie nearly chokes on a strawberry.

“Well, yeah, I mean, you looked like a deer in headlights, I thought that was your way of blowing me off”, he shrugs, feeling like an idiot.

“You ran out of the bus before I could even add anything!”

“Yeah, well I was distressed, so fuck you. You should've been more direct.”

“I was startled! That came out of nowhere!”

“I'd been building up to it for like a week! It had to get out!”

“Come on, Richie, just admit you're a drama queen.”

“Over my dead body.”

They spend the rest of the morning bickering like children, until Richie's coffee is cold and Eddie has to get back home. They both pay their own bill, because this is not a date, per se, even though it strangely feels like one. Richie doesn't even know if Eddie's gay yet. Maybe he's just a really friendly and oblivious heterosexual, for all he knows. As for himself, he thinks the pride patches sewn in his backback have all made it pretty clear he's at least a little bit gay. Or a hardcore ally.

The bus is empty when they get in, and they sit in the back just like the last few times, their thighs pressed together due to the lack of space, their cheeks red from the cold, and maybe for some other reasons as well. He tries to get Eddie to talk about himself, but as much as the boy talks, he's pretty secretive about his life.

He does admit he has pretty intense anxiety, though, that he studies in health and nutrition, and that he has a crazy mother. But that's it, and it's not nearly enough to satisfy Richie's curiosity.

“So...” Richie starts as they get closer to his stop, “What do I do this week if I feel like talking to you?” he asks tentatively, still fearing rejection, still fearing that Eddie might tell him to fuck off.

But Eddie does none of this, and instead he grins.

“My last name is Kaspbrak”, he says as Richie gets up, and that's all he needs, really, and he can't help but throw his arms in the air in victory when the bus is out of sight.

There really aren't a lot of Eddie Kaspbrak in this world, and so Richie finds him on instagram pretty quickly. He's not as much of a compulsive poster as him, but he does have a few pictures. A selfie of him kissing the cheek of a girl with fiery red hair, a few pictures of healthy-looking food, and then, and _then,_ a fucking _mirror selfie_ at the _gym,_ and Richie thinks he might lose it.

He clicks on it. Looks at the caption that reads _ice sk8ter legs – gotta go fast._ And then at said legs. And he fucking moans, right in the middle of the street, because Eddie literally has the hottest fucking legs he's ever seen on a man.

He shuts off his phone screen quickly to regain some composture when he enters his house, and then he gets in his bedroom, closes the door quickly, lies down on his bed an turns it on again.

Eddie is in great shape. His shoulders are square and he has great arms, but his legs, in those very short shorts, are in a completely different category, and Richie thinks it should be illegal to dress like this. He screenshots the picture and sends it to Mike and Bill.

_**Trashmouth** _

_[Eddie.jpg]_

_HES SO THICC_

_**Big Bill** _

_what the fuck_

_whos that_

_**Trashmouth** _

_right_

_i didnt tell u_

_its eddie_

_we talked today, everythings gr8_

_turns out i left the bus too soon hehehahohe_

_we got breakfast_

_and he gave me his last name_

_so naturally i stalked his instagram_

_and hes_

_THICCCCC_

_**Mikey** _

_no homo but i want him to sit on my face and squeeze his thighs while i eat him out_

_**Big Bill** _

_thats like, very homo dude_

_**Mikey** _

_shhhh its not gay if the balls dont touch_

_**Trashmouth** _

_back off mikey boy_

_if hes gonna be sitting on anyones face its gonna b mine_

_fuck he could suffocate me and id die happy_

_is that love_

_**Big Bill** _

_its as close to love as u can get_

_**Mikey** _

_all jokes aside im glad you talked it over though_

_im proud of u_

_**Trashmouth** _

_yay papa bear is proud of me_

_my life is complete_

He laughs to himself and looks back at the picture, thinking of what Mike just said. He thinks of Eddie wearing nothing but those shorts, and then nothing at all, he thinks of the feeling of these legs under his fingers, of the fine hair and tan skin, he thinks of these thighs wide open before him, of the salty taste on his tongue-

“Hey Rich- oh shit are you watching porn?”

The fantasy vanishes as quickly as it started, and Richie drops his phone on his chest with a startled yelp, fumbles around to sit up straight, his cheeks on fire, as he curses at his brother.

“Fucking shit, Liam, warn a guy, would you? Your parents never told you about knocking?”

He runs a hand through his hair nervously, feeling completely exposed, which is ridiculous, because he's fully clothed, and there's no way his brother saw his phone screen and the way he zoomed in on Eddie's picture, and yet... it's like he's been caught jerking off to some freaky shit – and that already happened, so he knows the feeling.

“Hey, not my problem if you get your freak on in the middle of the day!”

“Fuck off, why the fuck did you come here anyway?”

Liam smiles, suddenly remembering why he came there in the first place.

“Oh, I wanted to tell you, I did what you said, we went to see the sunrise this morning and she was really fucking happy. So I guess you don't only have bad ideas after all. Anyways, that's it, I'll let you get back to your... activities.”

He snickers and closes the door behind him, and Richie really, really feels like disappearing.

He writes to Eddie that night, because he can't wait any longer, even if it's just been a few hours since he last talked to him. He's really, totally fucking smitten with the guy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there there there  
> can i just say, i love Richie so much?   
> and also i love his family  
> i decided to give him good parents because the poor boy has a fragile mental health and he deserves it. i also really love his brother (yes, this is my way of lowkey complimenting myself lol)
> 
> i hope you liked and if you did, don't be shy to leave a comment! see ya for chapter 3!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year everyone! hope you had great holidays with your friends and family, and i wish you all the best for 2020! <3
> 
> here we are with the third chapter already; be prepared for a bit of sexting because why not, and also for some very soft Richie because soft Richie is my fave. There are some trigger warnings for this chapter:
> 
> tw: parental abuse  
> tw: mentions of past abuse/manipulation  
> tw: mentions of anxiety   
> tw: sexual content

Eddie and Richie talk to one another everyday during the week. Sometimes just for a few words, a quick good morning or a bad meme, and sometimes for longer during class, or at night when they're both in bed.

Eddie tells Richie about speed skating, he tells him a bit more about his mom, about Beverly and Stanley, and about his favourite movies. Richie tells him about Mike and Bill and Ben, and about how he wants him to meet them.

He feels all warm at the idea.

He keeps himself busy at school, wishes he and Richie went to the same college.

He's also psyching himself up to talk next sunday, when he's at group therapy. He doesn't know what he'll say, but he knows he feels ready to share at least something. He's been going there for a month, now, and Theodore greets him by his name when he sees him, and he recognizes a lot of people. He doesn't feel completely lost there anymore.

He makes plans to hang out with Richie after.

“Earth to Eddie, earth to Eddie”, a voice says next to him, and he snaps back into reality, the walls of the library reappearing before him.

“Sorry, what were you saying?”

Beverly rolls her eyes playfully, her red lips pulled up in a smile.

“As I was saying, my birthday is next week, and I thought it'd be cool to do something with Richie. My aunt won't be at home that weekend, so we'd have the house to ourselves. We could do a little get-together, invite Richie and his friends, maybe, open the spa.”

“What the fuck? You want to invite Richie and his _friends?_ You don't even know them! _I_ don't even know them!” Eddie chokes out, in shock.

“Perfect occasion, I say. We can all have a sleepover in the living room like in the good old days. Plus you'll get to see your boy in a bathing suit.”

She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively and Eddie sighs, his cheeks heating up. He won't lie, he's not against the idea of Richie and him, nearly naked in a spa. In fact he's very much on board with it, but he's still pretty anxious about it, and the whole meeting-his-friends deal. What if he doesn't like them? What if they don't like him? What if they don't like Stan and Bev?

“Alright”, he lets out, finally, “but I'm not helping you convince Stan.”

“That won't be necessary, he already said yes.”

“He what?!”

“Stan's always in when there's wine and a spa involved. Also I gave him fifty bucks.”

Of course he said yes, Stan is a fancy bitch, Eddie thinks, and he's also a huge asshole.

Eddie better accept his faith now; he knows there's no going back from this. And also, maybe, just maybe, a little part of him doesn't want to go back. He will spend Beverly's birthday with Richie and his friends. It surely won't be as bad as he's anticipating; Richie is a great guy and it wouldn't make sense if he had dumb idiots for friends. Everything will go just fine.

“I'll talk to him about it on sunday.”

Beverly claps her hand in excitement, doesn't even flinch when the student sitting near them sushes her. She's always so bold.

They leave a few minutes later and part ways to go to their respective classes. It's Eddie's last class of the day, and he already can't wait for it to be over: the sooner it ends, the sooner he can go to the ice rink. He's been itching to skate all day.

He still has to sit through it, though, take notes as the teacher talks about digestive enzymes, and once he can't focus anymore, he takes out his phone absentmindedly. He has a few texts from Richie, and he opens them with a smile on his face.

_**Richie** _

_apparently theres gonna be a snowstorm on sunday_

_so i thought after therapy we could go to my place and put on pajamas and marathon cheesy movies_

_have you ever seen the holiday? cause u gots too_

_like who would've thought jack black could be good in a romantic movie_

_but he is_

_so anyways were gonna watch the holiday i just decided_

_also i made the mistake to tell my dad about u_

_so maybes hes gonna be awkward on sunday if u come home but please dont let that scare you_

_hes a good dude i swear_

Eddie scoffs silently. Only Richie would refer to his dad as a “good dude”, but it also makes him all fuzzy inside to think that he told his father about him. He wonders what he said. Maybe he was just talking and it slipped, or maybe he deliberately talked about him, like, fully conscious, said something about a-guy-he-met-at-therapy-and-his-name's-Eddie.

One thing is sure, is that Eddie didn't say anything about it to his mother. He hasn't even told her he's attending group therapy on sunday mornings. Whenever she asks, he says he went to church, which is the stupidest thing ever, but she believes it, and tells him how much of a good boy he is, and it makes him feel sick.

When he gets to the ice rink, later that evening, he skates as fast as he can, until his thighs burn and he can barely stand up anymore. He answers Richie only when he gets out of the shower, his hair damp and curling a bit on his forehead, water droplets still sliding down on the back of his shoulders.

_**Eddie** _

_i'm down for a movie marathon_

_and i've definitely seen The Holiday what kind of person do you think I am_

_everybody likes Nancy Meyer's movies and the ones who say they dont are big fat liars_

_**Richie** _

_you're one of the good ones, clearly_

_bring your ugliest pajamas_

_**Eddie** _

_i don't own pajamas_

_**Richie** _

_what_

_do u sleep..._

_naked_

_wink wink_

_**Eddie** _

_as a matter of fact, yes i do_

_**Richie** _

_HOT_

_are u tryna kill me or what_

Eddie blushes slightly as he reads his last texts again. He can't believe he typed that with his own hands, and pressed send. Is this what flirting is supposed to be like? He's not very good at it, usually, and needs about four or five beers to really get comfortable, but now, now he's completely sober and really naked and already half-hard.

He doesn't know what to say next, because maybe Richie is just joking, it's so hard to tell over text, but then again maybe he's just like him at this very moment, naked on his bed, a red flush covering his chest up to his face, heart beating just a little bit faster than normal. He decides on a jokey reply, because he doesn't want to take the risk to ruin anything.

_**Eddie** _

_yes, I am_

_did it work?_

_**Richie** _

_nearly_

_gonna take more than that if u really want me to stop breathing though ;^)_

Ok, Eddie tells himself, this was definitely flirtarious. Why use a winky face for any other reason? Nobody uses them just like that. He feels his dick twitch at the thought, lets out a shaky breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

He really doesn't know what to answer to that, this is not his domain of expertise, not by a long shot, but then again he doesn't know if it's the endorphins from his training earlier or if he's just that horny, but he feels bold tonight.

And so he takes a picture of his chest, from his jaw to his navel, and he hits send before feeling the urge to delete it.

He sees the three dots announcing that Richie is typing. They stay there for a while, going up and down, and Eddie fears for a moment that he might have taken things too far, that maybe Richie was really just joking and maybe he's typing a long paragraph about how he doesn't like him that way right now, that things are gonna be so awkward and that he'll have to tell Bev to change her birthday plans because he sent a shirtless pic. Like a dumb, horny teenager.

Richie types for what looks like a million years, and Eddie's heart is beating so fast he thinks he might just die, until the answer finally comes.

_**Richie** _

_so, so, so hot_

Eddie wonders for a moment why it took him so long to type out something so simple, but he pushes the thought at the back of his mind, and focuses on his dick that's so hard it hurts, and he jerks off reading Richie's last text, _so, so, so hot._

*

To say that Eddie is nervous during the bus ride to the therapy center would be an understatement. He is really fucking anxious, so anxious he thinks his heart might leap out of his chest to go die on the sidewalk. He can't stop thinking about friday night, about how little they texted yesterday, about how things with Richie and him are bound to be awkward now that this happened, about the fact that he still wants to jerk off thinking of him.

If he could melt into the floor, at this very moment, Eddie would do it in a heartbeat.

Richie's not arrived yet when he gets there, and so he sits in the room alone, fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt while he waits for his friend to come.

“Sorry I'm late”, Richie's voice jerks him out of his thoughts, and he turns to him as he sits on his right, a huge smile on his face, nose red from the cold. “I made you this.”

He gives him a reusable cup, much like Eddie did that time with the hot chocolate, beaming.

“It's a chai latte”, he says before Eddie can even open his mouth to thank him. “And actually when I say I made it I mean I tried to make one but I burned the milk and made a mess in the microwave so my mom got me out of the kitchen and did it for me. But the intention's still there.”

A wave of relief suddenly crashes on Eddie's soul, because things are definitely not awkward, and Richie is the same as ever, if not for slightly pinker cheeks and a bit more rambling. But he doesn't look angry, or uncomfortable, and he keeps talking about his chai latte until Theodore stands up to greet the group.

They start with presentations, as always, because there are always some new faces in between the old ones, and Eddie says his name, and when everyone is done and Theodore asks if anybody wants to start, Eddie raises his hand before he changes his mind.

He promised himself he'd talk, so he talks.

Really fucking fast.

“I have anxiety. But not like cute anxiety where I'm nervous once in a while, more like ugly fucking anxiety where I constantly have to remind myself how to breathe in case I forget, like I always feel I'm on the brim of explosion, like I get litteral hangovers because my panic attacks are too intense, and I really don't know what to do about it, because most of the time it includes medication or therapy and I hate both of those things so much, and I have a prescription for anxiety meds my doctor gave me but I can't bring myself to go to the fucking pharmacy, you know, it makes me feel physically ill just to think about it, just to think about all those times where I went to get my pills only to find out it was all some stupid bullshit my mom was trying to feed me.

I feel like if I end up taking those pills, I'll just go back to being the small, fragile, _delicate_ little boy my mom raised me to be, the person I try so hard to distance myself, from, and I'm so fucking terrified to actually need medication, because all of these years I thought I needed my inhaler, because I thought I had fucking asthma, and what if it's the same thing with these damn pills, what if they don't really heal me but instead they just blind me, what do I do then? Because I got out of the pattern once, but I don't know if I can do it twice.

And my mom, my fucking mom, she messed me up so bad it makes me hate her sometimes but then I feel awful because I shoudn't hate my mom, right? Some people don't even have a mother, and I'm here trash-talking mine, and in some weird, fucked up part of my mind, I still believe her when she tells me she only wants my own good, that she only wants me to be healthy, even if I know it's all lies, because she doesn't care, because why would she do this to me if she really cared?

Why would she feed me so much lies and make me so self-conscious, why would she tell me I'm so weak and frail, why would she force me to stay home when it's sunny outside because apparently I'm allergic to the sun? I spent all of my childhood being friendless because of her, because I was never allowed to get out of the fucking house, because she was so scared I'd hurt myself or even worse, _enjoy_ myself, and I always felt so alone and for all these years I thought I'd never have any friends, I thought I didn't deserve it, somehow, because I was too fragile and too tiny.

And then I got to high shcool and I thought she had a weird way of loving me, because I was bullied every fucking day, and she didn't give a flying fuck about all of that, she didn't care if I came home crying because some asshole ripped my homework to pieces and I got yelled at by the teacher because of it, she cared only when I told her I wanted to have a bicycle, when I came home after the sunset, when I tried to actually live my life. And she still doesn't give a fuck, even now, and she only sees and hears what she wants, it's like she takes the parts of me she has the most control over, and makes herself another son out of them. I tried telling her I was gay, once, and you know what she did? She just brushed it off. She didn't even acknowledge what I said, she just kept talking about my medication like I wasnt even _there,_ and somehow it was worse than her freaking out, because at least I would have gotten a reaction, something, but instead all I got was the realization that what I felt, who I was, had no meaning for her. I'm twenty-one and she still doesn't see me as a complete human being.

And you know what scares me the most? I'm scared that she's _right._ I'm scared she was right all along, because deep inside it's true I'm weak and fragile and small and delicate, no matter how much I go to the gym, how many good grades I get, I'm still fucking terrified at every passing second, and I'm still not a fully fonctional human being and I still hate myself because of it.”

He's breathless when he finally stops talking, and he realize everyone's looking at him with wide eyes, or at least, a lot of people, because some others are crying silently, eyes shut tightly, wiping their tears away with tissues. Richie is one of these people.

He sniffles next to Eddie, his glasses up in his hair, just like the first time he saw him. His face is red and his eyes are glassy and he refuses to make eye contact.

And so Eddie looks up at Theodore, whose eyes are gleaming under the yellow light of the room. He clears his throat softly before talking.

“Wow, Eddie, a month with us without saying anything, and then you let it out all at once? I never thought I'd hear you talk so much”, he jokes lightly, and a few people, including Eddie, chuckle. “I always say that we are not here to tell each other how to live our lives, so I won't give you advice, partly because of that, and partly because I feel you don't need it. You are obviously so much stronger than you think you are, Eddie, a fighter, without a doubt, and it pains me to hear you say you're weak and frail, because you most definitely are not. You went through so much, without any medication, any therapy, any help, and yet here you are, still functional, still in one piece. Can you imagine how far you could go if you actually allowed yourself to get help?” He takes a break, Eddie nods. “I will add one more thing that I feel you need to hear: you are under no obligation to feel any kind of love towards any member of your family. Even if it's your mom. You have the right not to like her. It's okay.”

On his right, Richie sighs slowly, and then a girl raises her hand to talk about her mother as well, and the session continues. At the end of the hour, before Eddie gets out, Theodore reaches to him.

“Eddie, before you go, I just wanted to say I am incredibly proud of you for opening up yourself like that today. It took a lot of courage, and I'm grateful you trust us enough to share these things with us. You are really strong. Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise.”

His smile is sincere, and Eddie is happy he talked today. Even if he's drained from all his energy he somehow feels lighter, and the feeling only expands when he sees Richie's soft brown eyes waiting for him outside of the room.

He's weirdly silent on their walk to the bus stop, and when they get in the bus, instead of sitting in his usual spot in front of him, Richie sits next to Eddie, their thighs nearly glued together, and he takes his hand in his, intertwines their fingers.

“You are so strong, and I'm so sorry you had to go through all of this.” His voice is only a murmur, and Eddie shivers as it reaches him. “I can share my mom with you if want. She's awesome.”

Eddie chuckles and nods as an answer. He relaxes his head on Richie's shoulder, and they spend the whole bus ride just like that, breathing softly.

Richie lives in a pretty big house, Eddie discovers when they get there.

“So, yeah, that's where I live”, Richie says, gesturing at the house. “My parents are there but we'll watch our movies downstairs. And also maybe my annoying brother will come bother us as payback for all those times I bothered him when he had people over. So I'm sorry.”

He unlocks the door, and they are immediately greeted by a woman's voice when they get inside.

“Richard? Is that you sweetheart?”

Eddie snorts at the nickname and Richies shoves him lightly against a wall.

“Stop laughing at me”, he mutters, but he's smiling.

He takes his coat and hangs it with the others, and when they get in the kitchen, they spot Maggie and Wentworth Tozier, both wearing matching aprons, doing meal prep for the week.

“Hello boys”, Wentworth starts, wiping his hand on himself before holding it out to Eddie. “I'm Richard's father, Wentworth.You must be Eddie; I've heard a whole lot about you”, he grins, and Richie turns bright red.

“Dad!”

His mother laughs and introduces herself as well, and Eddie, even though he's nervous, feels welcomed. It really feels like a boyfriend-meets-parents type of deal, and Eddie tries to shove this thought to the back of his mind. They're only friends, and this is perfectly normal.

“So you're gonna watch movies?” Maggie asks, and her son nods enthusiastically.

“Yeah, Eds and I are gonna have ourselves a good ol' slumber party”, he says with a loud british accent. “I may even let him braid my hair” he whispers then, making sure Eddie hears him.

They talk for a few more minutes before the boys retreat downstairs.

“So I'm gonna lend you something to wear”, Richie says as they get down, “And while you get changed I'm gonna get out some blankets. I'm going all in, in case you hadn't noticed yet. I was not kidding about you braiding my hair.”

He winks, then disappears in his bedroom for a few seconds before reappearing with a bright red flannel pajamas in hand.

“There you go. My grandma gives me one of these every year, so I've built up quite a collection, now. Bathroom's over there.”

Eddie laughs as he takes it, it's soft but really fucking corny, with a gingerbread pattern all over it, and he can't believe he's about to wear that in front of Richie. He goes to the bathroom and gets changed nonetheless, while Richie is evidently wrecking the living room, judging by all the noise he's making. A loud thud, then a crash, then a curse, the voice of a concerned mother, and when Eddie gets out, his friend his laying arms and legs spread out on a matress, wearing some similar outfit to his.

He's got his glasses in one hand, a controller in the other, and a satisfied smile on his lips.

“Thought you were wreaking havoc out here for a while”, Eddie says as he sits down next to him. “Did you move your whole bedroom here?”

“Just the bed”, Richie grins, and he puts his glasses back on. “I wanted us to be super comfy.”

For a while, Eddie stares in shock at how handsome he looks, his hair tied on the top of his head with a scrunchie in a half-bun, his cheeks pink, subtly marked with pale freckles.

“So?” Richie props himself up on his elbows, “Are we watching those movies or what?”

And so they start _The Holiday,_ and Richie talks through it the whole time, too excited and too happy to have Eddie here with him, and Eddie doesn't complain, he just laughs at his jokes and voices and enjoys himself.

They put on _She's the Man_ next, and when Richie turns to him with his big, glistening eyes and asks him to braid his hair, Eddie can't say no, no matter how silly the demand is in the first place. He climbs up on the sofa behind them so he can have a better view, and asks Richie to sit between his legs. He lets his fingers run through the curly hair slowly, separating strands from one another, hands trembling as he feels the other boy shiver underneath him. He finds out that the nape of his neck is pretty sensitive when Richie lets out a shuddering breath, but he doesn't say a word, and keeps braiding the hair until there's no more he can grab. Richie looks absolutely ridiculous.

Ridiculously happy as well.

“How do I look?”

“Really fucking laughable”, Eddie answers quickly, a half grin on his face.

“Wow, rude. I thought you were my friend.”

He fakes sulking and turns his back to Eddie, putting his arms around his knees.

“Aw, poor wittle baby, don't be so sad”, Eddie mocks as he gets down next to him, poking his side repeatedly. “Come on, look at me, look at me, look at me!”

Richie shakes his head, doing his best to hide his smile, Eddie continues to poke him with one finger, and on the television Amanda Bynes puts a tampon in her nose. _It's for nosebleeds._

“Alright”, Eddie says after a few seconds, “you leave me no choice.”

And then he jumps on him, pins him on the matress, and Richie shuts his eyes, laughing loudly, trying to free himself.

He doesn't try that hard, though, because Eddie is sitting on his stomach, straddling him, and it feels good and Eddie keeps picking at him, tries to open his eyes with his hands, and they're both still laughing and it's a sound they love hearing.

“Jesus fuck, get a room!”

They're interrupted by Liam's exaggerately disgusted voice, and both of them stop right in their tracks to look at him. He makes a show out of rolling his eyes, sighs loudly.

“We are in a room”, Richie points out with a giggle, “what are _you_ doing here anyways?”

“Upstair's bathroom's occupied and I gotta take a shit”, Liam shrugs with a grin.

He disappears in the bathroom a few seconds later, and it's only then that Eddie realizes he's still sitting on Richie, so he moves away quickly, letting the other boy sit up with a groan.

“I'm like, one hundred percent sure he's lying and that he came here just 'cause he's a dick”, he scoffs, and if he speaks the words a bit harshly, Eddie doesn't comment.

It's kind of a mood killer, though, so they get back to the movie, awkwardly sitting at a distance, their shoulders tense, but Eddie can't focus, and his mind wanders. What would have happened if they hadn't been interrupted by Liam? He kinda feels like it could have ended in something a little less playful and a bit more... sexy? But then again maybe he's just imagining things, maybe they were really just fighting like children and maybe there's nothing else behind it.

But then again...

He wishes.

He says nothing when Richie gets closer, neither when he lies down next to him and puts his head on his thighs. He wants to run his fingers through his hair again, undo all the braids and then start over, he wants to bend over and kiss his temple, he wants to put his hand on his shoulder, maybe, or on his waist, but Eddie does nothing of the sort, and he keeps his hands to himself.

He doesn't stop thinking about it, though, and he's so lost in his thoughts he doesn't realize the movie's over, he doesn't care about it, in all honesty, and Richie looks like he feels the same way too because his eyes are closed.

Eddie wonders if he's sleeping of if he's just comfortable, but he doesn't want to move either way, so he lets his palm rest on Richie's waist, lightly, rests his head on the couch behind him, and closes his eyes.

They are jolted awake by the sound of Wentworth's voice, calling for Richie from the door upstairs.

“Richard? Is Eddie staying with us for dinner?”

Richie scrambles up, his glasses half off his face, red streaks on the side of his cheek from the folds in Eddie's pants. He rubs his eyes quickly, then shoots a questioning look at Eddie.

“Don't feel pressured to say yes”, he murmurs, getting pinker by the second.

“No, it's okay”, Eddie blurts out before he takes the time to think about it, “I'll stay.”

Richie shouts something to his dad, but Eddie doesn't really listen, too busy panicking about his mother's reaction, and the fact that this all feels strangely domestic, and also very good, and it shouldn't feel that good, right, it should feel normal, or awkward even, but not _good,_ because it never feels good to have dinner with your friend's family that you don't know, especially if you have a weirdly flirty relationship with said friend, especially if you don't know were you stand on those grounds with said friend, especially if you just woke up from a nap where said friend was sleeping on your thighs, but Eddie can't help it, he feels good, and it's overwhelming.

“Eds?” Richie asks and his voice sounds a bit concerned. “Everything okay? You know I can tell them you had something and you forgot, they won't mind.”

Deep breath in.

Deep breath out.

Stop focusing on little things. Embrace the good feelings; don't chase them away. You have the right to feel happy about things. You deserve to feel happy.

Own it.

“No, I want to stay.”

Richie's smile lights up his soul, and he decides he's made the right choice.

They put their normal clothes back on before getting upstairs, because there's no way in hell that Eddie will be seen wearing this in any other place than this very room, and then they head to the kitchen, and Richie can't stop joking, barely stopping to breathe, and his parents smile softly at him, never asking him to stop.

“Eddie, my dear, what would you like to drink?” Maggie asks with her soft voice.

For a second, Eddie can't help but wish she was his mother.

He sits next to Richie, who's quite literally beaming, their thighs brush together under the table, and for a second their looks meet, and they smile.

Turns out Liam and Richie's mental age regresses when they're together, one throwing a piece of carrot at the other, the other ratting him out, and then both of them bickering and squabbling until one of their parents tells them to stop and eat.

“I'm sorry, Eddie” Wentworth says loud enough for his sons to hear, “My sons cannot keep themselves together more than a few minutes when they're in the same room.”

“Yeah, 'cause Richie's fucking annoying”, Liam adds, ignoring his mother's scold.

“Maybe I'm annoying but you're an asshole so that still makes you the worst twin”, and then Richie turns to him: “he started it, you were a witness. Tell my dad he's the worst twin, maybe he'll believe it if it comes from you.”

They stay on the subject of “who's the worst twin” for a while, and then it's Eddie that settles the argument, when he hears Richie say very seriously that _Blades of Glory_ is a cinematic masterpiece.

“I made up my mind, Richie's definitely the worst twin.”

*

“I can't believe you betrayed me like that, Eds. Taking Liam's side agaisnt mine, really? So, so, so, so rude, and I'm never allowing you in my house again.”

“Too bad it's your parent's house, because I'm pretty sure they'll let me in even if you act like a crybaby.”

“I hate that you're right.”

Eddie smiles.

He's waiting for his bus home, and Richie insisted to wait with him, so here they are, standing in the harsh fabruary cold, unbothered by the darkness around them. Eddie can't help but think briefely about what's waiting for him at home but he choses to push the thought away and enjoy his moment for now.

He realizes he still hasn't brought up Beverly's birthday like he told her he would during the week, and so he decides now is the right time to do it.

“It's my friend Bev's birthday on saturday, and she wants to do something at her aunt's place, and she wants you to come with your friends. It'll just be her, Stan and me. You can say no of course but she insisted I invite you even if you've never met. Anyways. There's gonna be a spa.”

He shuffles in place, his eyes locked on his feet, feeling a bit awkward about the whole thing. He just hopes Richie doesn't think it's awkward. He doesn't really know why he added the spa bit, but it's a bit too late, now.

“For real? That's awesome! I like her already. I had plans to see the guys on saturday but I'm sure they'll be down for it! We were only planning to smoke weed like a bunch of losers anyways, so a birthday and a spa is like a hundred times better.”

Eddie tries to ignore the tingle in his chest, but he feels light and warm and happy when he hears Richie's answer.

“Cool”, he says, trying to look casual. “I'll text you the details tomorrow. You can still bring the weed, though, I'm pretty sure Bev will be up for it.”

The bus arrives, opens the door.

“Text me when you get home?”

“I will.”

*

Eddie doesn't text Richie _immediately_ when he gets home, though, because he still has totalk to his mother, first, and boy is he not looking foward to it, dreading the moment he'll open the door, every step foward somehow harder than the last. He has a couple missed calls and a few texts he didn't open. It's gonna be hell.

He hears her voice calling for him as soon as he opens the door, sighs silently while he removes his boots and his coat, and then enters the living room, his jaw tight.

“Hey mom.”

She's sitting in her armchair, just like every other day, arms folded over her stomach. The television isn't even on.

“Now, Eddie-bear, where have you been all day? You ignored all of my calls. That's not a good boy's behaviour.”

“I was with a friend, mom, and then I ate dinner at his place. Would've been impolite to take a call sitting at the table.”

“You ate dinner there? But you never eat with me anymore! What did I do to deserve this?”

He grits his teeth, closes his eyes for a moment. Just to keep it together.

“Nothing, mom. I just wanted to be with my friend. You know I have friends, right? I can't be here 24/7 anymore.”

“You're always so cold to me, Eddie-bear, so cold to your mother...”

“Mom... stop trying to make me feel guilty. I'm going in the shower.”

He leaves quickly, not giving her the time to protest, and shuts the bathroom door behind him with trembling hands.

Breathe in, breathe out.

In, and out.

He takes his phone out of his pocket to send Richie a quick text before entering the shower.

_**Eddie** _

_I'm home_

_sorry it took a while my mom was waiting for me_

He tries not to think about Richie while he washes his hair, he tries not to think about how cute he looked when he woke up this afternoon, how calm he seemed when he slept on his legs, the small smile on his lips, the sound of his laugh when he was sitting on him, trying to force his eyes open, the red on his cheeks, how pink and kissable his lips looked.

He waits until he's in his bedroom, door locked, safe under the covers to turn on his phone again.

_**Richie** _

_oh boy_

_im sorry_

_must have been awful_

_i had fun today btw_

_and my parents like you a lot i think_

_at least thats what they told me_

_they said “he looks like a good kid this eddie”_

_nerds_

_anyways_

_yeah it was cool_

_and the boys are down for saturday night also_

_theyre like super happy_

_im pretty sure theyve never seen a girl in a bathing suit before_

_bunch of losers_

_i kid, i kid_

_sorry for spamming you btw_

_you tell me if its annoying_

_but ill keep doing it if you say nothing_

_so anyways_

_yeah today was awesome_

_**Eddie** _

_sorry it took me a while to answer you, I was in the shower_

_but I had a lot of fun today too!_

_also you can tell your parents I like them too_

_**Richie** _

_in the shower??_

_pics or it didnt happen_

Eddie's heart skips a beat. Just like last time, he thinks, they're back with the flirty texts, and as much as he really wants to continue in that way, he still feels uneasy, seeing as they haven't even mentioned any of it today. It's so much easier when there's a screen between them, because Eddie can blush as much as he wants without being ashamed, and he can really take the time to think about his answers.

But at the same time, he doesn't want those things to happen only over text. What are they gonna do, send each other horny texts every other night and pretend it didn't happen when they actually stand one in front of the other?

Eddie's lost in his thoughts when another message comes.

_**Richie** _

_im joking, you know_

_u dont have to send pictures_

_im sorry if i made things awkward_

He takes a shaky breath, then types out his response.

_**Eddie** _

_why would you make things awkward?_

_**Richie** _

_idk_

_took you a while to answer_

_i thought i took things too far or smth_

_**Eddie** _

_I promise you didn't_

_**Richie** _

_thank god_

_so are u sending those pics or what_

Eddie rolls his eyes at his screen but laughs nonetheless as he turns on the light next to his bed. He closes his eyes for a few seconds, because is he really going to do _that_ again? A shiver runs through him, and he holds up his phone.

_**Eddie** _

_[Shirtlessinbed.jpeg]_

He regrets it as soon as he presses send and has to resist the urge to throw his phone at the wall. It's so dumb, really, sending these kind of pictures, and feeling so lightheaded over it, it's so fucking silly and he can't believe how much it turns him on.

A few months ago, if anyone had told him something like that would happen, Eddie would have laughed right in their face.

_**Richie** _

_do u want me to die_

_cuz im about to have a heart attack here_

_eds u are so fucking hot_

_even when ou were wearign these fck pajamas earlier_

_sorry i cant type_

_its because youre so fucking HOT_

_911_

_**Eddie** _

_I feel you're exaggerating a bit_

_**Richie** _

_am not_

_i dont think you realize the effect you have on people_

_(me)_

_u make me feel like such a fck virgin_

_i couldnt stop thinking about your last pic today_

_and like i didnt want to tell you cause i didnt want to make things awkward_

_but fucking shit_

_and i dont want to ask too much but like_

_can u send another_

_but with your face in it this time_

_i wanna see you_

Eddie feels himself flush as he reads Richie's texts, and he bites his lower lip so hard he tastes blood. The idea of including his face in the picture is so intimate for a reason, and he doesn't even know what he has to do, does he smile? or try to look sexy? What's the standard procedure for these type of things?

He doesn't really want to type “How to take nudes” in google, though, so he just goes with how he feels.

The picture he takes shows a lot more of him, his face, yes, but his lower belly as well, the little hairs under his navel, and it cuts at his hips. His cheeks and neck are red, his eyes half lidded, and he's looking straight into the camera with his lips parted. He can hear himself pant.

_**Eddie** _

_[Veryrevealingselfie.jpeg]_

_I feel so awkward._

He wonders what Richie's doing at the moment, while he looks at his pictures. Is he naked in bed as well, or sitting on his couch next to his parents, pretending he's not receiving very horny texts? Is he touching himself, imagining it's Eddie's hand, leaking pre-cum?

He tries to picture what Richie looks like naked. He's always seen him in pants and long-sleeved t-shirts, so it leaves a lot up to his imagination, but Eddie can work with that.

He pictures soft, milky skin everywhere, freckles on the top of his shoulders, firm arms and narrow hips, long legs covered with black, curly hair, the same hair that leaves a trail under his belly button straight to his dick, his long, thick, uncut dick.

Eddie almost comes right on the spot.

“Fuck...” He mutters to himself with a trembling voice.

_**Richie** _

_i order you not to feel awkward_

_thats literally the sexiest fucking pic ive ever laid my eyes on_

_fuck i wish i was there with you_

_so you could give me that look in person_

_i cant believe i have to wait til saturday to see you_

_**Eddie** _

_we won't be alone on saturday_

_**Richie** _

_i couldnt care less_

_eds i wanna touch you so bad rn_

_wanna feel you_

_**Eddie** _

_Richie_

_send me a picture too_

_**Richie** _

_anything for you darling_

_[AverynakedRichie.jpeg]_

Eddie forgets how to breathe.

He's pretty sure Richie's done this before because the picture he gets is so incredibly hot he feels like his heart might stop beating at any given moment.

On his phone screen, Richie is looking right at him, winking with a half smile on his face, cheeks red and chest bare, his right hand covering part of his pubes, and Eddie notices he has a navel piercing, an odd but somehow surprisingly sexy thing for him to have. The picture is a bit blurry but it couldn't matter less; he sees what's essential.

Images fill up his mind, Richie under and on top of him, his warm, soft skin and the fine hair that covers it, the shuddery breaths that would escape his lips.

His own hand finds its way to his throbbing dick as he tries to shut the voices in his head telling him how wrong it is to touch himself looking at his friend. But Richie is not totally a friend, because friends don't flirt like that, right?

He types his reply with a shuddering breath.

_**Eddie** _

_i want to jump your bones_

_**Richie** _

_fuck i want that too eds_

_so, so much_

_eddie_

_are u touching yourself rn?_

_**Eddie** _

_yeah_

_you?_

_**Richie** _

_fuck yeah_

_i dont think ive ever been this hard_

_can i facetime u_

_i wanna see ur pretty face_

A shiver runs down Eddie's spine as he reads Richie's texts. A part of him wants to accept, because he wants to see Richie's face too, but then another part of him is not sure about it. He's never had phone sex before, much less this.

He says okay.

The call comes in only a few seconds after and Eddie accepts it with a trembling finger. On his phone screen Richie's face appear, a bit blurry from the dim light in his room, hair spread out on his pillow.

“ _Hey, hot stuff_ ”, he says with a grin. His cheeks are slightly pink, his breath is short.

“Hey, Rich.”

“ _You are so pretty, I swear. I wish I was there with you._ ”

“Fuck, me too.”

He can hear Richie panting, looking directly into the camera, his lips parted and his eyes half closed.

“ _What would you do? If we were together?_ ”

What wouldn't he do is more like it, Eddie thinks.

“I'd get my hands all over you. Make you feel good.”

Richie sighs deeply, closes his eyes. Eddie can hear the faint sound of his hand jerking up and down his dick over his phone's speaker. It's probably the hottest thing he's ever heard in his life.

“ _I want that so much, Eddie, I wanna kiss you and touch you and feel you and hear you, fuck, I've imagined this so many times already, you're so fucking hot, so hot, fuck-_ ”

Richie keeps rambling and the more he goes on the less sense it makes. But Eddie's not even focused, he just hears some of the words and that's enough to get him going They don't move the cameras from their face, instead just focusing on each other's eyes, on Eddie's hair that's still a little wet and sticks to his forehead, on Richie's soft moans and on the low waves of pleasure building up inside of them.

Eventually Richie takes in a sharp breath and bites his lower lip, eyes shut tight.

“ _Fuck_ ” He moans rather loudly, and that's what sets Eddie off next.

His own orgasm comes so quickly he yelps Richie's name, and a few seconds after, they both open their eyes back again, a little fazed and their faces still flushed with pleasure.

“ _I... Did not expect my day to end up like that_ ”, Richie whispers after a while, “ _But fuck, that was hot. Eds, I don't know how I'll manage on saturday._ ”

“I'm sure you'll find the strenght”, Eddie whispers back with half a smile. “And if you don't, well... it wouldn't be such a bad thing.”

He still thinks about Richie's laugh when he drifts off to sleep that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there it is! 
> 
> i really hesitated a lot about how to write Eddie's mom because i didn't want her to be to cliché, but at the same time she just is, you know? and she is such a toxic mother and it pains me because Eddie deserves a thousand times better but i promise he will heal from this. this is a happy fic, after all. 
> 
> i'm super excited for next chapter because it will be the meeting of all our losers and also some very important Richie backstory! i hope you liked this one anyways; your comments are always appreciated <3 see you soon for chapter 4!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wooh! chapter 4 is there, and it's a bid one. i like it a lot, though, i hope you'll feel the same about it! we learn more about Richie's past and have some well deserved fluff <3 there are some trigger warnings that apply for the first part of the chapter, though. if you feel uneasy, you can skip it to the first little star (*). most of the bad stuff happens before it. i'll do a quick recap of it at the end of the chapter so you're not missing any important information if you decide not to read that part! 
> 
> tw for self harm and mentions of self harm  
> tw for suicide (not graphic) and mentions of suicide  
> tw for panic attacks  
> tw for bullying  
> tw for description of depression
> 
> i think that's all (and that's enough, really, lol)  
> enjoy!

“I can't go.”

Richie Tozier is looking at himself in the mirror, repeating the same three words over and over again.

“I can't go.”

His voice comes out as a whimper, soft, trembling while he holds his reflection's gaze. It's as if he's trying to convince himself of something that's too hard to name.

He holds up a shaky hand, trails a finger lightly over his shoulders, his chest, pausing on every little scar, tracing them, trying to keep breathing. They're all white and mostly faded out, now, but they're still there, they're still visible, he can still feel them under his touch. He closes his eyes, the sight is too much. His face is crisped, brows furrowed, jaw tight, as he tries to hold back the tears that desperately want to come out.

It wasn't always like this.

It started slowly, so slowly, in fact, that he didn't notice it, lurking in the back of his mind, whispering, gradually gripping each of his organs, taking control. And then, when he realized, it was too late, he was cutting lines in his skin, his vision blurred by tears and pain, gritting his teeth in an attempt not to make any noise, surrendering in this weird sensation of being alive, of _having control._

He was in middle school when the bullying started. Small things at first; his friends picking on him, laughing at his glasses, calling him “four eyes”, and then some other people joined the team, snickering when he walked past them, tripping him up in the hallways, hiding his pencil case on top of the lockers. While his friends pretented it was all in good fun, that there was nothing to cry about, Richie didn't quite feel that way, but what could he do except go along with it, hoping it would pass? He didn't know any better.

And so he kept silent when students that weren't even in his class started calling him names, making sure he couldn't sit anywhere at lunch, forcing him to eat alone hidden somewhere in school, and as they grew up the name-calling switched to something more subtle, more insidious, and it was inviting him at birthday parties and giving him the wrong date, the wrong address, it was picking everyone else on their team in P.E. besides him, it was teaming up with anyone else but him when they had to do group projects in class, leaving him alone, forced to stick with a team that didn't want him there, it was saying how his brother was so awesome compared to him, it was closing doors in his face and locking them just to see him struggle behind the glass.

He didn't tell his parents about it because he didn't want to worry them, and he didn't tell his brother either, because he felt like he already knew and just didn't care. How could he not have noticed what was going on by then? They didn't hang out together that much, but Liam surely saw the way the other children treated Richie. Besides, talking about it felt weird and unnatural, and whenever he tried to mention it at home, to bring it up somewhat casually, he would find himself at lost for words, and unable to breathe.

It was when he got to high school that he finally met Bill, another loser, a stutterer that people loved to mock, and they stuck together, understanding fully what the other had to go through everyday. Bill was so strong, he had this quiet dignity that Richie lacked, being a gangly teen with crooked teeth and thick glasses. Bill stuttered, but he was as handsome as a thirteen year old boy can be, he always held his head high, and he could throw a punch when things got too much, and they got too much way too often. Richie knew was very lucky to have him as a friend; even if some part of him still felt isolated, it surely would have been worse to be completely alone.

Sometimes, though, even the best of friends can't fill the void that's slowly growing inside you.

Kids and teenagers can be so mean, and adults can be so blind.

It wasn't that teachers didn't care, because they did, in an awkward teacher way, in a “cyber-bullying-is-real” kind of way, in a “I-know-about-it-but-I-can't-recognize-it-when-I-see-it” kind of way. And since people were so discreet, since they never said out loud all the things they whispered to Richie in the bathrooms, since they never acted out in front of the adults, nobody could know, and therefore, nobody could try and help. They presented videos to the entire school once a year, during the Bullying Prevention week. They said _talk to an adult you trust_ and _don't keep it to yourself_ when really, the only thing most of them needed to hear was _you deserve much more than that._

As a child and as a teenager, you never know your worth, and you often accept treatment you shouldn't tolerate simply because you don't know any better. Even if it feels wrong. Even if it feels bad. Even if it makes you want to disappear. The people that are supposed to protect you from that can't find the right words to make it feel better, to make you want to stand up for yourself.

It got really bad around fourteen, when boys started to get girlfriends and girls started to get boyfriends, when Richie found himself blushing in the locker rooms when a bunch of guys changed in front of him, when he showed no interest towards any girl, when he made the mistake to stare a bit too long, sometimes, in class.

Rumors got around quickly, and the word “faggot” was whispered at every corner, every time he passed in the hallways, every day he had P.E.. He came to school to find it written on notes placed in his locker, dissimulated carefully between his binders. Boys started to look at him in disgust around the same time his brother became really popular with the opposite sex. If some part of him had wanted to reach out before, it died during that time, when he realized Liam was the best twin, when people made it clear they were not equal.

He spent a lot of time with Bill, who didn't care about the rumors, who didn't care when Richie confessed maybe they were not rumors, maybe it was true, what they were all saying about him, he wasn't sure, Bill who didn't care about Liam.

That night, when Richie told him he didn't like girls, Bill held him close to his chest until he fell asleep, exhausted from crying.

Richie became a very good liar, told his parents how much fun he had at school, never telling them how he cried in the bathroom that day, or how he felt like disappearing for most of the school year. He was getting more cranky, however, got into fights with Liam that often ended up being physical, snapped at the smallest things. Maggie tried to sit with him, once, to ask him if everything really was okay, with her soft voice and sad eyes, because deep down somewhere she knew, but Richie still couldn't talk, his throat too tight and his pride too hurt.

When the night came, Richie could often hear her crying in her bedroom, Wentworth desperately trying to convince her everything would be fine. Judging by the tone of his voice, he was trying to convince himself as well.

Richie felt trapped. It was like he was locked in a room with many doors, but everytime he tried to grab the doorknob of one of them, it would just crumble to dust in his hand. Around him, walls were slowly moving foward. One inch at a time, until one day he would find himself crushed between them, unable to move and unable to breathe.

On his fiftheenth birthday, he was greeted at school with a kick behing his knees that made him fall face first in the middle of the hallway, and for the first time in his life, at that very exact moment, Richie wished he would die.

The thought went as quick as it came, but it was too late, he'd had the time to grasp it mid-air, to contemplate it, and to accept.

He got back on his feet as quickly as he could, ignored the chuckles surrounding him. Went to the bathroom and cried silently in one of the stalls.

He went to see the school counselor that day, deciding maybe he should talk to an adult at least about _something,_ maybe it would help, it _had to,_ but when he sat on the cushioned chair and he had to actually open his mouth, he found himself, like always in these situations, at lost for words.

Richie could talk for hours about anything. Except that.

“So, Richard Tozier, is that right?” The social worker had asked, eyeing through his file.

She was a middle-aged woman with a stern look on her face, but her voice was sweet, her words were soft. She looked at him through her thin-framed glasses, her blue eyes piercing his very soul, as she waited for him to talk. He did not, so she took the matter in her own hands, reclined back on her chair.

“What brought you to me today?”

Richie felt so lost, so freaking lost, felt the panick rise in his chest as he blurted words he wasn't even plannng to say in the first place.

“I'm gay.”

She had a knowing look as she nodded, encouraging him to continue with a smile and a hand motion.

“I don't want to be.”

“Now, Richard, that is sadly not up for you to decide”, she smiled. “Believe me, if it was, I would have chosen to be heterosexual, too. Would have saved me a lot of trouble with my parents.”

A wink.

“You're lesbian?”

“I am. I've been married for a few years now.”

A wave of relief. Somehow, knowing that information, Richie knew he could trust her, at least with that part of himself.

“How was it? When you grew up? How did you know?”

“I think deep down I always knew. I was never interested in boys, I wanted to kiss girls. I knew it, I just didn't want to accept the reality of it, you know. I grew up in a small town where gay people didn't have it easy, and I didn't want to admit to myself that I was one of those people. I wanted to be normal so bad, even if I didn't really knew what the word meant. I tried so hard, too, I went on dates with boys, kissed, I even slept with a few, but everytime, I felt like I was a complete stranger, and I knew I was lying to myself. I came to term with it at twenty-seven, that's when I met my wife. She helped me a lot. Now of course our experiences won't be the same, given how much society has changed in the past years, but one thing I can tell you is that the sooner you accept it, the sooner you'll be at peace.”

“But like, what if I accept it, and the other don't? What do I do then?”

“You have to start by establishing who are those others. Are they your family, your friends?”

“They're everyone. Everyone that will know.”

She stayed silent for a while.

“There's always gonna be some people that don't accept you, Richard, gay or not. You can't expect to be loved by everybody. I know it hurts to think about it, trust me, but if you love yourself first, I promise it will hurt less.” She took a break, put her notepad back on her desk, her glasses next to it. Without them, she looked softer, as if they had been some kind of wall separating the two of them. “Sartre said _Hell is other people,_ have you ever heard that? We often take it literally, and as satisfying as the affirmation can be, that's not what he meant when he wrote it. It means that you will find your personnal hell in how you _think_ people see you. So really, when you yhink about it, _you_ are your own hell. Now it sounds dark, I know, but there's a way around that, and that way is self-love. Once you start loving yourself, Richard, truly loving yourself, you won't worry about how others may see you anymore, because deep down, you will know the truth. It's not an easy job, it's a lot of work, but it's doable, and the sooner you start doing that work, the sooner you'll start feeling better.”

“So I have to do all that before coming out?”

“No! God, no, it's not mandatory. It may take you years to get to that point. Finding self-love is a journey, and experiences like that are part of it. Coming out almost always hurts. I'm not sugarcoating it because I figure you might as well be prepared for what's coming; it sucks. It's akward, and messy, and maybe you'll lose friends, or family, and it will break some parts of you, but then, once it's done, you can actually start healing, and you can't heal wounds that haven't been open yet. You have to fall in order to get back on your feet.”

“And what about sex?”

“What about it?”

“I'm fifteen. I should start having sex soon, but what- what if I don't like it? What if it scares me? Is that normal?”

“You don't _have_ to start having sex at fifteen, Richard, in fact, you shouldn't have sex at fifteen if you feel you're not ready for it. You have to wait until you actually want it, and that may be a month from now, or in twenty years. I know sociey teaches us very closed concepts of what sexuality should look and feel like, but in reality, it's much more complex, much more intricate than what you might think.”

“I don't... I don't even know what to expect. Like, I don't know how it works, or well, I kind of know, but I'm... not sure, and I feel like I should be.”

“Right. They don't teach children those things. What do you know?”

“They – well we – do it in the ass.”

“Okay... and what do you think about that?”

“It's gross, I guess? That's where we shit from. It's gross. But I guess I'm curious about the rest. Blowjobs and all.”

“Okay. So I'm gonna give you a little sex ed class here, Richard, because I know how the system fails LGBTQ kids; it's like you don't exist. I will start with the thing I feel you need to hear the most: the idea of penetrative intercourse as the only form of sex is a very heteronormative, very binary vision of the thing, and it is not necessary to practice it by any means. In fact I know a lot of people that don't enjoy penetration, and that doesn't mean they don't have sex. You are not obliged, under any circumstances, to be interested in sodomy. It won't make you less gay, and it won't make you less interesting. And if one day you find out you're actually interested in it, then there's no problem either. I won't try to convince you it's not gross; you'll change your mind about it when the time comes, if it ever comes. But don't beat yourself up over that. Take the time you need, set your boundaries, and you will have a very healthy sex life. It's all that matters in the end.”

Richie had, with that therapist, the longest conversation about sex he'd ever had. He left her office relieved that somebody _knew_ and understood how he felt, and feeling at the same time that his head might explode from so much new information. He ran home and wrote it all down before he could forget, and hid the notes in the very back of one of his drawers.

As good as that conversation had felt, though, it didn't help him with the other problems he faced on the daily. They didn't have time to cover those during the hour, and even if she told him to come back anytime, Richie wasn't sure he would ever be ready to talk about it.

And then there was a letter moving from hand to hand around school, discreetely given in the back of classrooms, passed from locker to locker, and when Richie would try to sneak in a glance people would hide it quickly, pretending nothing happened and playing cool, grins on their faces, until one day he found it, folded in four in his locker.

It read _**PETITION FOR RICHIE TOZIER TO KILL HIMSELF.**_

And there were so much signatures on it, some names he didn't even recognize, dozens of them, and when he lifted his head Richie saw the way people were looking at him, waiting for him to react, to start crying or something, waiting to see just how bad they got to him, but as much as he felt like exploding, Richie gave them none of that. He folded the letter with trembling hands, put it in his back pocket and went to class, desperately holding back his tears.

He let himself flood only when he got home that night, alone in his bedroom, scared and angry and clueless and desperate, grabbing fistfuls of hair on his head, face in his pillow so he could sob and scream without anybody hearing. It felt suffocating, the way he couldn't stop the tears, the way his throat ached and his head throbbed. He tried to stop it, tried to breathe through the pain in his chest but he couldn't control any of it. He felt like a prisoner in his own body, the four walls having finally closed in on him, and he didn't know how to break free, so he did the only thing that made sense to him, the only thing he knew for sure would make everything go away. The doorknob didn't crumble when he turned it, but when he opened the door, though, the other room was even darker than this one. He heard a lock clicking, and when he turned around, Richie was prisonner again.

That night, he searched his room for the pocket knife his grandpa gave him three years prior, and he went to take a bath.

Richie thought foolishly that dying would be easy. He thought all he needed to do was barely cut his wrists and he would bleed to death. What happened instead was that his bath water got tinted red, his wrists hurt like shit, and he didn't die. Turns out human bodies are stronger than the souls that occupy them.

But for the brief moment when he was slicing the blade through his skin, the physical pain was so intense that Richie forgot how much he was aching inside. The wave of relief that went through him made him feel sick. He got out of the bath in a hurry, wrists still covered in blood, and puked in the toilet, hating himself for what he just did, for being so fucking weak and so fucking desperate. The scene was as pathetic as it felt like; Richie, lying naked on the bathroom's floor, still bleeding, still crying, retching in the toilet.

He still did it the next day, though.

Soon it became kind of a ritual, after a hard day, to dig in the flesh of his thighs, where no one could see the marks it left.

It went on for years. Years of smiling less and less and feeling so exhausted, so empty, years of being left alone, years of having only one fucking friend he couldn't find the strenght to confess to, years of being ignored by his better twin brother, years of thinking about that damn petition, years of pain and sadness and feeling desperate, years of hating himself more and more with each passing day, years of his parents sobbing softly in their bedroom when the night came. The school therapist had been replaced only a few months after he'd talked to her for the first time, something about moving out of town, and as much as his parents felt like they were losing him, they didn't know what caused the change, and so didn't know how to help.

Richie tried to convice them it was teen angst, but Maggie and Wentworth Tozier weren't blind, and they had noticed a while ago that he never wore short sleeves anymore.

There was no more place left on the upper part of his thighs, so Richie had started mutilating his shoulders, and then his chest, biceps and forearms. His body was a mess of old and newer scars, an intricate pattern of pink and red lines, a statement of despair. He was starting to look just like how he felt deep inside. An ugly, pathetic mess.

It was the end of summer when Richie decided to die. He had turned eighteen a few months before, graduated high school, but he didn't feel as happy or as relieved as he thought he would be. Instead of feeling liberating, the idea of having to go to college was suffocating, and he spent all summer waking in the middle of the night in full-blown panic attacks, hiding himself inside, wishing he was someone else. Or no one else. The void kept on growing inside of him, and soon Richie felt like a black hole.

So at the end of august, a week before going back to school, Richie wrote a long letter to his parents that he left on the kitchen table, a letter which was mostly consisted of _sorry_ s and _I wish I was stronger,_ a letter written with tears and black ink. He waited until he was alone at home, one morning, sure that nobody would come back until at least 3pm, brought his knife and a pack of cigarettes with him in the bathroom. He smoked them all one after the other until his lungs were on fire, until he was dizzy from the nicotine, contemplated the knife for a while.

Cried a whole fucking lot, and then again a bit.

And then he stabbed.

The memories are a bit blurry, as if he watched the scene without glasses. He remembers thinking how long it took before he died. He remembers hearing footsepts getting closer, and someone knocking on the batroom door. He remembers seeing his brother entering the room from the corner of his eye, and then the weirdly high-pitched scream that escaped his lips when he saw him. He remembers hearing a call for an ambulance, then a call to his parents, he remembers hearing his brother cry for the first time in years, he remembers trying to say something but passing out before any words could get out.

He remembers the look in his parent's eyes when he woke up in the hospital. The emptiness, the darkness he felt was surrounding him. He remembers memories coming back to him in flashes, he remembers losing it so bad a nurse had to give him a sedative.

He remembers how slow the time felt when he was hospitalized, how everything felt like it was moving through honey, how heavy his head felt at all times, heavy with shame, guilt and sadness, and how bad his brother looked when he visited him for the first time, a week after he'd made the call for help.

He remembers smiling at how ugly he was, purple bags under his eyes, skin pale and clamy, hair greasy, and it was the first time he'd seen him look so vulnerable, even more than when they were kids and he'd fell off his bike and broke one of his teeth. He remembers how good it felt when he said sorry.

He remembers the sweet nurse with blonde hair and soft hazel eyes that would check on him from time to time, make sure he ate, kept him company when no one else could come.

He remembers begging his parents not to tell Bill about it.

Richie really does remember a lot of things. Most people remember their teenage years as some vague, fuzzy times filled with sexual awakening and heartbreak and true friends, and Richie does too, but very, very clearly, in every single detail, like it was just yesterday, like it's never really ended.

He feels better, now, really he does, with the help of medication and very intense therapy sessions, but there are still days when he feels like the ground is crumbling underneath him, threatening to breach at any given moment, making him fall in that bottomless pit he once found himself in.

And today, as he looks at himself in the mirror, wearing nothing but a bathing suit, his scars visible for everyone to see, Richie feels like that.

And he cries.

“Hey Rich do you still have tha- Oh shit are you okay?”

Liam is looking at him with wide eyes, head peaking behind the door. Slowly, he opens it up all the way to enter the room, his eyes still fixed on his brother, mouth hanging open.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Liam, do you even know the meaning of the word privacy?” Richie snaps at him, and runs to push him out of the room.

“Wait- Rich, wait, what's going on? Why are you crying?”

“None of your fucking buisness, asshole. Get out.”

But Liam doesn't listen, of course he doesn't, and he stays still in the doorframe, only a few centimeters away from him, and something softens in his eyes as he takes a step towards Richie, takes him in his arms.

Richie freezes in place, because what else can he do, his brother is hugging him, and it's been years since it last happened, and he feels so fucking fragile, so fucking exposed, and he starts to cry again.

Liam makes him sit on the bed and takes place next to him, right hand in his back as Richie keeps sobbing, his face hidden behind his palms. He hates being seen like this by him.  
They stay like this for a long time, until the sobs soften and the silence becomes unbearable.

“I can't go tonight”, Richie whispers, because Liam knows where he's supposed to go, he's been so excited all week he couldn't stop talking about it, but now that he's actually _there_ he's remembering why he hasn't worn a swimsuit in so long, why he made sure to only send Eddie blurry pictures so he woudn't notice the white lines covering his skin.

“Yes you can, you can go.”

Liam's voice is gentle, his hand warm on Richie's shoulder.

“Did you fucking see me? Did you look at me with your eyes? I look like a fucking trainwreck. Who's gonna want to hang out with some idiot that has no fucking self-control?”

“Dude. You gotta stop. They won't mind. They're good people. And if they ask questions you just say you went through a rough patch but you got through it, and they're gonna see you're a fighter. Rich, look at me. Stop beating yourself down. If I could rewrite history and make sure you never had to go through any of this shit I would do it in a hearbeat, but I can't and I hate myself for it because I let it happen, but look at yourself now! You fucking made it! You fucking survived and got back in school and became like an insanely good artist and you made awesome friends and I'm pretty sure Eddie's your boyfriend or at least he's gonna be very soon, and you're invited someplace cool tonight. But you gotta let yourself be happy, man, you gotta lean into it. Just, you know, say _I deserve this shit_ and fucking thrive in it. 'Cause you do. You do deserve this shit.”

“You don't understand, I can't, like, come out, and just announce something like that in front of some people I don't even know. I'm not ready.”

Liam closes his eyes, sighs silently.

“I have a surfing suit I can give you, if you want. It's long sleeved and it stops over the knees, so it would cover up the scars. Do you want it?”

A small nod.

“But you gotta promise me one thing, Rich. Promise me you'll let yourself be happy tonight.”

Another small nod.

Liam leaves the room for a few minutes and then comes back with the suit on one arm. He leaves it besides his brother, neatly folded, and turns back to leave.

“Wait, Liam. Thanks.”

“Just don't forget what I told you. 'Cause I'm never saying this to you out loud again. I hate you.”

He says it with a smile, though, and Richie finds himself smiling back, and with a wink, just like that, Liam is gone.

*

He can hear voices and laughs behind the door, as he's standing in front of it. Muffled words, Eddie's giggles, Bill's stutter.  
The house looks warm and inviting, lights glowing from behind closed curtains, and Richie takes a deep breath, eyes closed, a shiver running down his entire body.

“I deserve this shit”, he whispers to himself, like his brother told him to do earlier.

He stays frozen in place for a while, thoughts wandering over to the conversation they had a couple hours ago, to the surfing suit he feels hugging his body. He'd never felt so close to him than in that moment, and he thinks that maybe their relationship is salvageable after all, maybe they could pick the broken pieces and build something new and stronger with them, maybe things could go back to being as simple as they were fifteen years ago, when they only had each other, maybe they could heal together.

He shakes his head, opens his eyes, rings the doorbell, and then a tall, red-haired girl greets him, wraps him into a tight hug.

“Richie! I'm so glad you could make it, we've heard so much about you! I'm Beverly, by the way, but you can call me Bev. Now come in, it's freezing out there.”

She pulls him inside as he laughs, notices Mike and Ben staring at them from the corner of his eye. He runs to them immediately, a wide grin breaking onto his face, feeling lighter all of a sudden.

“Well if it isn't Big Bill and Mikey my Honey in person! When did you guy get here?”

“About thirty minutes ago, you know, at requested time.”

“Right right right right right, requested time, you know that has no meaning for me.”

Mike rolls his eyes but laughs nonetheless, used to him always being late by now. He's brought to the kitchen, where Eddie, Ben and another guy he doesn't know are talking, a beer in hand.

When Eddie lays his eyes on him, his heart shudders.

As it turns out, both their friends get along really well together, and nobody tells him to shut up when he starts making jokes and can't stop himself, even if he's not being funny and probably even a bit annoying. They all laugh with him, even Stanley, with his serious looks and unsmiling face. Richie learns quickly that Stan is a master of sarcasm, though, and he's _delighted._

Conversations flow easily, Eddie gets a little tipsy and a lot more touchy, and Richie, well, Richie leans into it.

“So, I don't know about you guys, but I really feel like sitting in hot water while smoking a doobie, so who's coming?”

Beverly holds out a tightly rolled blunt as Bill and Richie cheer loudly. She asks Ben to come and help her open the spa while the others get changed, and Richie stays in the kitchen, suddenly overrun by phantom pain, his scars burning hot under his clothes.

_It's not real_ , he tries telling himself, they don't hurt for real, but the pain feels so genuine, it's like all his wounds are open, and he unconsciously brings a hand to his right forearm, right where it hurts the most, where he can feel the bump of the long, deep scar underneath the fabric of his suit.

“Everything good?”

He turns only to face Eddie's concerned gaze studying him, a slight crease in his forehead. Richie does not answer right away, in fact, he stays right there with his mouth open, and so Eddie repeats his question, takes a step closer.

“Richie? Everything good?”

“If I wasn't, I definitely am now”, Richie manages to let out, still hypnotized by the scorching feeling on his skin, and he moves his eyes slightly, looks down at Eddie's bare chest, and he forgets everything else.

Eddie has changed into his swimsuit, which is really just a really tight, tiny pair of red shorts, all of his ridiculously tan skin exposed, every muscle, beauty mark, every freckle and every hair on view for Richie to admire.

But what really makes him implode are the legs, those damn fucking thick and strong legs, thighs covered with blonde hair, and Richie just wants to bend down and kiss them and bite them and suck marks on them, he wants to feel them crush him, he wants to lick and taste them, really, and it takes all of his self control not to reach out and grab them, or at least just brush his fingers angainst the golden skin.

He must have been staring for a while, because when his eyes come up, Eddie is bright red.

“Yeah, no- yeah, I'm- I'm good. All good. Great, even”, he stutters like an idiot, and then, with a thick irish accent: “Nevah Bettah!”

He curses at himself when he sees Mike and Stan snort, standing next to the door, clearly laughing at him. He doesn't blame them, though, he's clearly making a fool of himself right now. Bill's voice yells at them from outside, and then it's like everything starts moving again. Richie blinks a few times as he watches his friends get out in the freezing cold, running in the snow to get to the spa.

He forces himself to unclench his jaw, and then slowly removes his sweater, socks, and pants. He stands alone in the house for a few minutes, gathering the courage to put on a show, make them forget he's wearing a fucking surf suit, or at least make it look _normal,_ like something he'd do.

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

_I deserve this shit._

The show must go on.

“Dude, what the f-fuck are you wearing?” is the first thing he hears when he gets in the hot water.

“Bill, Billy boy, my man, there's something called modesty. I didn't want ya'll to feel uncomfortable around my insanely ripped body”, he says, making a show out of flexing his skinny arms, and he feels a weight off his shoulders when everybody starts laughing. “Besides”, he adds, “I didn't have any swimsuits and I guess Liam wanted me to look like a clown because that's the only thing he accepted to lend me.”

“Right, because I'm gessing you normally don't look like a clown”, Stan deadpans right away.

“You guessed right, Stan the Man! I have an _amazing_ sense of style, ask anybody.”

They all stay silent.

“All right. Rude. I'm never talking to any of you again.”

“Well I can't wait to see how _that_ turns out”, Mike teases him, and Beverly passes him the blunt.

Richie takes a hit, then two, then scream-laughs when Bill takes too much and starts coughing so bad he has to bend over the spa to puke, then his gaze meets Eddie's as he inhales the smoke, and he's so fucking hot Richie feels like he could cry. He wishes they were sitting closer so that he could run a hand on his legs, or whisper something to him, anything, really, but they're as far as they can be, one in front of the other, and the only thing Richie can do is take another hit when the joint comes back to him, silently thanking the bubbles for hiding his very obvious hard-on.

They keep smoking, Mike shares his favourite anecdote – of course it involves Richie making a fool of himself – and Eddie's eyes never leave his face.

“Ok, so Richie's got the key to my place and he comes by a few times a week. That night we have a few beers, and I don't want him to drive himself back home so I make him sleep on my couch, which, all good, right? I wake up in the middle of the night 'cause I hear a loud noise, so I get up to see what's going on, and I find Richie sprawled on the floor like a fucking puppet, his face covered in blood. I lose my shit, call 9-1-1, because the fucker's unconscious, and I notice my kitchen counter's cracked and there's to slices of bread in a plate not far from it... long story short, he tried to butter up some toasts in the middle of the night, sneezed and smashed his face on my counter, broke his nose, knocked himself out _and_ gave himself a concussion! He had two black eyes for a week after!”

The story in itself is funny.

What's less funny is that _he's_ the poor idiot it's about.

Richie laughs nonetheless, because weed makes him feel light and Eddie's laughing too and his laugh is the most precious thing in the universe.

Beverly and him make a bet of who can lay down in the snow for the longest time, and Richie lasts about thirty seconds before he starts fearing he might lose his dick from the cold, and jumps back into the spa, taking place next to Eddie when he has the chance.

Eddie, with his red cheeks and soft hair, his surprisingly broad shoulders and his beauty marks, Eddie with his sparkling smile and his bright eyes, his fast voice, his muscled thighs and his tiny, tiny swimsuit.

He leans in to whisper in his ear.

“Eds, you are so fucking pretty I swear to god you're making me lose my mind.”

He stays like this, his nose brushing the softly curled hair, taking in everything he can. As much as he'd like to get away, just to keep his sanity, he can't, and Eddie doesn't seem bothered in the slightest because he leans into him a bit, his breath hitched, and underwater, his hand finds its way to Richie's leg.

“You wanna get back inside?” He asks, his voice low, his eyes half lidded, and Richie can only nod.

They get up at the same time, and if Richie gets funny looks from his friends, he promptly ignores them as he follows Eddie inside the house.

Eddie takes his hand, leads him into the bathroom, where they won't get caught by anybody, and locks the door behind them. His eyes are hungry and his body is still covered with droplets of water, glistening under the lights like he's something precious.

Though he _is_ something precious, Richie thinks, and maybe it's just the weed talking, but Eddie has never looked so fucking beautiful than right at this instant.

It seems time is frozen, or maybe they are, it takes so long for them to finally move towards each other, one step at a time, until they are mere centimeters away from the other, heads angled so they don't break eye contact, lips parted, shivering both from the cold and the anticipation, then one hand moves, fingers trace a collarbone, brush over the neck, the jaw, until they set themselves somewhere in between, grasping strands of short hair, and mouths melt together.

Kissing Eddie feels like colliding with a thousand suns, the heat rises into Richie so fast he can barely control it, it tastes like beer and weed and saliva and cinnamon and _Eddie,_ and for a moment he forgets how to breathe, because everything is so overwhelming. He wants to talk and kiss and laugh and smile all at the same time, he want to say how much he's wanted to do this, he wants to tell him how good it feels, how hot he is, how utterly amazing the whole experience is.

But Eddie is holding his head and keeping his mouth against his, so Richie just keeps kissing, moans when he feels teeth on his lower lip, and then again when a tongue slides against his, tries to keep standing up even though his legs are shaky, leans on the bathroom door so he can slide down a bit, stand at Eddie's height, align their hips together, and he finally lets his hands wander where he's wanted them to be since he saw _that_ fucking gym selfie on instagram, grip the thighs, so firm under his fingers, slides them over the ass, holds back a whimper when he feels how hard Eddie is, crushing their groins together with urgency.

They keep at it for a few minutes, grinding against each other, hands desperately moving all over their bodies. Richie sees white spots and he's not even sure it's normal, maybe he's about to pass out, but he wouldn't mind because he would be passing out kissing Eddie.

He can barely speak properly but he doesn't care, he has to talk, has to let out all the words that are twirling in his mind, and he sounds like he's completely losing it when Eddie starts sucking right under his ear.

“Fuck Eds I've been wanting to do this for so long you feel so good taste so good fuck I love your legs want you to crush me with them want you so much baby you're so fucking hot-”

He gets interrupted by lips against his yet again, his next word muffled into the kiss, and then Eddie's hands get to his neck, start to unzip his suit, and Richie freezes in place.

It must be obvious because as soon as he stops moving, the hands leave for the nape of his neck, softly, and Eddie, panting, stares at him.

“Richie? Are you okay?”

It takes him a while to fully understand the question.

“Yeah, yeah, all good”, he says, but it sounds fake even to him, and Eddie raises a suspicious brow.

“You sure about that? 'Cause you don't look all good to me. Richie, look at me, tell me what's happening.”

He's not panting anymore, suddenly, and his eyes are very serious, very worried, and Richie doesn't know what to say, or at least how to say it, it's embarrassing, it's idiotic, he feels so weak and so stupid, but Eddie doesn't leave him, instead he just slides to the floor with him, still craddling his face between his hands. They're both sitting on the cold ceramic tiles, still half hard, and if Richie feels hot it's only because he's panicking like crazy.

“I-I can't-” Richie's voice break mid-sentence as he tries to inhale some air, or _something,_ but there are razor blades in his throat, water in his lungs. Nothing gets in so he tries again, and again, but he can't do it he can't fucking _breathe_ and his whole body his shaken with dry sobs.

“Rich, look at me. You're having a panic attack, you have to calm down. Tell me what you see, describe it. Me I see your pretty face, I see the bathroom door behind you, I see the dirt in your glasses. Now tell me what you see.”

It's so hard focusing on those things, and it takes him a while to be able to talk, but Richie does as he's told. He focuses on Eddie first, because it's the easiest, he's just there in front of him, worried and pretty and he still has a hand softly massaging the back of his neck. Richie leans into the touch.

“I see you, and your freckles, and, and, and the beauty mark on your lower lip, I see, eh, the sink and the floor and the bath, I see your arms and your chest and your fucking _hot_ swimsuit and your fucking hot legs and I see my skinny ass legs and my hobbit feet and I- why are you laughing?”

“You most definitely do not have hobbit feet. Also it looks like you have a thing for my legs.”

“Fuck yeah I got a thing for your legs Eds they're so fucking hot they shouldn't even be legal!”

They giggle like teenagers, softly, lying on the floor, and even if it's still hard to breathe properly, the world does feel softer around Richie now. Silence fills the room, only broken by the hushed sounds of their exhales as they look at each other.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Eddie whispers, trailing his fingers softly on Richie's chest.

“It's silly.”

“I'm pretty positive it's not. How about you tell me and I judge for myself?”

“It's just-” Richie takes a break to breathe, inhale, exhale, before starting again, “There's some things I don't want you to see, or, well, it's not that I don't want you to see them like, someday, but I'm- I'm just not ready.”

His voice is barely a whisper, and Eddie nods slowly, brings back his hand to Richie's face to wipe some of the tears that are trailing down his cheeks.

“I'm sorry” Richie whispers, because he his, he's sorry he ruined the moment so pathetically, he's sorry he's a mess and he's sorry he's being such a wreck. “I literally cockblocked us. I suck.”

“I don't know about that”, Eddie starts, a grin slowly forming on his face. “We haven't gotten there yet.”

Richie gasps dramatically, a hand on his chest.

“Edward, that is so naughty! And here I was thinking that you were pure and untouched by the sins of flesh!”

Eddie shoves him playfully and they start kissing again, legs intertwined.

*

“Hey, lovebirds, look, we love you and all but there's only one bathroom in this house and Ben has to take a shit.”

“I don't! I just have to pee!”

“Whatever. Ben has to pee and I have to take a shit after, so get the fuck out of here and make out in public like men. It's not like we didn't spend the whole night watching you too eye fuck anyways...”

They stop kissing, look at each other for a few seconds, burst out in giggles. Maybe they forgot they weren't alone. Maybe.

If looks could kill, Stan would get in prison for murder. He glares at them so hard as they get out of the bathroom that Richie actually starts feeling a little bad, but Eddie, next to him, is smiling like an idiot at his friend. It seems everybody got back inside, because when they reach the kitchen, they're all staring at them with knowing smirks. Nobody says anything, though, and Richie's thankful for that.

Bev placed a bunch of air matresses in the living room so they could all sleep there tonight, and Richie realizes he's the only one that didn't bring a spare of clothes or a pajamas or something. Because of course he fucking forgot, he was so worked up over the swimsuit situation that he didn't even think about the rest, so he ends up wearing one of Beverly's old, oversized sweater and a pair of joggings that's at least three sizes too small for him.

“Rich, I gotta tell you, man, you have never looked hotter”, Mike tells him after five minutes of laughing.

They watch old Simpsons reruns on the TV, and Richie sits between Eddie's legs, rests his head on his chest.

He feels so peaceful when he's with Eddie, so comfortable, like he knows he can fully be himself, loud and messy and hyperactive and anxious, and he knows Eddie will accept him as he his.

He doesn't know when he'll be ready to show his scars. He knows he can't hide them forever, and he doesn't want to either, but some part of him can't stop thinking about how it may weird out Eddie, to see how much of a fuck-up he really is, because maybe he doesn't fully realize yet, and even though those thoughts hurt, he can't make them go away.

The phantom pain continues to burn.

Richie shivers when he feels fingers run smoothly through his hair, nearly purring at the contact, and he lets himself close his eyes.

When he wakes up most of the conversations have died out, and people have started to whisper, which means it must be late. He places a kiss on Eddie's collarbone as he sits up.

“I didn't want to wake you up 'cause you looked so at peace but I'm actually relieved you are, you drooled on me a bunch.”

“I did?”

“Yeah, you did.”

He laughs at Richie's confused stare as he gets up to go clean himself, then gets back after a few minutes and kneels next to him.

“Wanna get to bed?”

“I thought you slept naked, I gotta say I'm disappointed, Eds.”

“Maybe not when I'm sleeping next to a bunch of my friends”, he winks, and then: “I promise I'll make it up to you next time, though.”

They end up getting the mattress closest to the wall and hide under the covers to kiss softly, promptly ignoring Stan and Bill's gagging noises and Bev's “ _cutecutecutecutecute_ ”.

Eddie's lips are soft and hot and he kisses slowly, like they have all the time in the world, a hand on his waist, the other between them, their legs tangled together. They move closer to each other, Richie curls up on Eddie's side, snuggles his face in his armpit.

They fall asleep just like that.

*

They skip the group therapy on sunday morning and leave Beverly's house in the afternoon. As much as he knows how clingy he is, Richie doesn't want Eddie to get back home. He wants him to come back to his place, and cuddle some more, and then have him sitting next to him at dinner with his parents when he tells them they're officially boyfriends now.

Or at least – he thinks they are.

The question feels like an awkward one to ask, though, and picturing himself saying _yeah so we didn't really talk about it but we did kiss a bunch yesterday so does that mean we're together or what_ makes Richie feel squirmy inside. They hold hands in the bus, that must be a good sign, he thinks, but then again, who knows. People can be so weird about relationships.

They get closer to Eddie's stop.

And Richie really, really wants to ask him to stay with him.

“When can I see you again?” he asks instead, because it feels maybe less intense, or at least more detached, but his hopeful tone must betray him because Eddie smiles softly, his eyes sad.

“I have to go back to my place and my mom will be _pissed._ I didn't tell her I'd sleep out last night. Also I have to train at least a bit since I skipped yesterday. What time do you start school tomorrow?”

“I only have one class from three to six.”

“Maybe I could sneak out and come at your place tonight after I'm done with all my things, then, like around seven?”

“You'll sleep there too?”

“Yeah, if you want me too.”

“Eds of course I want you to, that's why I'm asking. You'll text me tonight then?”

“As soon as I'm ready to leave.”

Eddie kisses him ligthly before getting out of the bus, and Richie spends the rest of the ride in a haze, cheeks pink and a dumb, lovesick smile dancing on his lips.

He doesn't stop grinning when he gets home, way too happy to try and hide it. His dad looks at him behind his glasses, sets away his book on the coffee table when he sees him enter the living room.

“Judging from the smile on your face, I'm gessing last night was fun”, he states, the corner of his eyes crinkling.

“Yeah”, Richie says with a dreamy look on his face, “It was great. Eddie was great. He'll come by later. I told you he does speed skating, right? He had to train this afternoon and all but he's gonna come here after. We slept through therapy this morning so we didn't go but I don't mind 'cause cuddling was way better than therapy anyways, and he's so cute in the morning he's like all grumpy and shit, and I slept so well dad I did the full eight hours can you fucking believe it? Eight fucking hours!”

He keeps talking for a while and Wentworth listens, doesn't tell him he's repeating himself, circling around, he just nods and smiles and laughs softly.

Richie can't remember the last time he felt so light. Maybe it's because he's never had a boyfriend, has never been properly wanted, but it's intoxicating.

He receives a couple of texts from Mike, Ben and Bill, facebook friend requests from Stan and Beverly. Life feels good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> recap of the first part for those who skipped it:   
> basically, it's a throwback to Richie's past starting at his early teenage years; he was bullied pretty badly but didn't know how to talk about it, his relationship with his brother crumbled and he started mutilating, tried to commit suicide at 18. his upper thighs, upper chest, arms and shoulders are covered with scars, and he doesn't want to show them at Bev's birthday party. he ends up wearing his brother's surf suit. that's about it! 
> 
> i promise everytime i have an angsty chapter i balance it out with some fluff after because even i can't write something sad that doesn't end with love and hugs and smiles. so fear not!! i promise it gets better.   
> i hope you liked this chapter, feel free to leave a comment as they are always appreciated, and i'll see you during the week for chapter 5!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm back with chapter 5! this one really focuses on Eddie's relationship with his mother, so it's pretty angsty, but i made sure to add some fluff here and there so it's not too dark. i think i have a good balance. 
> 
> trigger warnings for this chapter include: 
> 
> tw for toxic relationship  
> tw for manipulative parent  
> tw for panic attacks  
> tw for hospitals  
> tw for sexual content  
> tw for mentions of self hatred

When Eddie gets home, his mother is crying in the kitchen.

She doesn't lift her head when he enters the room, keeps looking at the old picture she has in her hand, a picture that Eddie doesn't even have to see to know what's on it.

It was taken just a week before his father died, the three of them in their old backyard, all smiles, eyes crinkled from the sun, back when times were more simple, when Eddie was still young and naïve and not scared of anything. He'd play in the dirt and then eat without washing his hands, he'd run around and climb in trees and pet stray cats on the street.

Back then the word “bacteria” had no meaning, germs were a concept he didn't quite understand, and life was so good, and simple, and his mother was not the woman she is now. She was sweet and maybe a little clingy but not in the bad, twisted way she became later; she would tell him to wash his hands all the time but she still let him play outside, she'd get out of the house herself, laugh, and the pharmacist didn't know her name yet. Eddie loved her. He loved the warm hugs she'd wrap him in when he was scared, he loved the sound of her voice, her frizzy hair and her round, smiling face.

Then his father got sick and she was there for both of them, she was there to look after them, she'd walk Eddie to school every morning and then go back to her husband to help him with his medication, to bring him to the hospital for his chemotherapy treatments, to make sure he ate well. Later, when Frank Kaspbrak became unable to take care of himself, she was there to feed him, wash him, keep him company as he slowly faded away in the special bed they had installed for him in the spare bedroom.

At eight years old, Eddie witnessed Sonia Kaspbrak nurse his father at home until he died, waiting for the ambulance to arrive on a cold november night.

The changes came sneakily, lurking around every corner, and soon it was _no Eddie-bear you can't go outside in the snow you'll catch a pneumonia_ and _Eddie-bear it's important to take your vitamins every morning if you don't want to have the flu_ and _Eddie-bear you can't run, look how out of breath you get!_ and _don't forget your inhaler_ and _you can't go to your friend's birthday party Eddie-bear, cake is bad for your health and I know how dirty other people can be_ and _I do all of this because I love you._

It had to be true, what she was saying, she knew so much, Eddie saw how she took care of his dad during those awful months before his death, he remembered how serious she was about it all, how could he even think she would lie to him?

As it turns out, death can turn the most loving mothers into heartbroken monsters.

And now there she is, crying over the past, still, trying to understand where it all went wrong without even considering it might be her fault.

Eddie sighs, sits next to her. He knows he has to do it. He knows they have to talk; he won't be able to sleep tonight if they don't.

“...Mom?” He tries hesitantly, watches as she dramaticaly wipes her eyes. “Mom, tell me what's going on.”

“Oh, Eddie-bear, why do you do this to me? Why don't you care about me?” she sniffles, still not looking at him in the eyes.

It's weird, the bond that links a mother and her child. As much as Eddie wants to roll his eyes at her sobs, he also feels this strong, overbearing urge to take her in his arms and to cry with her. Most of it is pity, but there's this part of him that still loves her _so much,_ that still believes in her, and Eddie doesn't know if he'll be able to cut it off of him one day.

“Mom, don't day that. I care about you, you know I do.”  
  
“Why do you abandon me, then? Is that your way of showing me love?” She cries, still looking at the picture. Frank Kaspbrak smiles back at her.

“I'm not abandoning you. I can spend a weekend away and still love you.”

“You were such a good kid, always hugging me, always staying with me, and now you don't even talk to me anymore... you changed so much, Eddie-bear, what happened to you? What happened to my sweet boy?”

“Mom... I grew up, that's all. You can't expect me to act the same as when I was five. That's not how things work.” He sighs. They've had this conversation hundreds of times already. It always ends up the same. “It's like this for everyone”, he adds.

“But why do you want to be like everyone so bad? Why can't we have someone special, you and me, like we had when you were five? Your father always said we had a unique bond, you and I, why do you want to make him lie so much?”

His breath hitches at the mention of his father, and Eddie has to close his eyes a few seconds to try and keep himself together. He hates this. He hates it so much his chest aches.

“Don't bring him into this”, he says finally, eyes still closed, “This is something between you and me only. I don't know what to tell you. I'm twenty-one. I'm an adult. I went to a friend's house and took a couple drinks and it made me happy. You don't have the right to do this- you can't try and manipulate me like that.”

“But that's not what I'm trying to do, Eddie-bear, you always make me seem like such a bad person, like a monster, but I'm not a monster, I'm just your mommy and I love you and I want what's best for you, honey. You're always trying to demonize me, do you really hate me that much?”

Eddie shivers. Is it really just him? Maybe he could have told her he wouldn't sleep at home, at least. But then again, if he did, she would have tried to convince him to stay.That's why he didn't tell her. It's not because he hates her.

It's not because he hates her.

“I don't-”

He wants to say _I don't hate you_ but the words stay stuck in his throat, cutting like blades he isn't able to swallow, and deep down, somewhere inside him, a voice whispers. _Lying is wrong._

“I love you, mom”, he says instead, because somehow it's easier to say, somehow it doesn't feel like a lie. Can you love and hate someone at the same time?

He stands up as soon as the words leave his mouth, his whole body trembling, and runs out of the kitchen, trying to catch his breath. He takes his skates, a few spare outfits and his toothbrush, throws them all in a bag and leaves the house without looking back at his mother who's sobbing with her face in her hands on the other side of the wall.

He tries Stan's techniques as he feels panic rise inside him, focuses on what he sees outside as he walks towards the bus stop, _I see snow_ do I hate her? _I see a blue car_ I should've stayed _parked like an idiot I see clouds in the sky_ I'm the worst fucking son _I see the recyclng bins on the sidewalk I see a woman walking her dogs I see the grocery store I see my reflection in the bank's windows,_ and if he still feels like he might drop dead at any moment, at least he's not thinking about it too much.

It takes him a while to finally calm down, to shut down the part of his brain that's screaming at him to go back. He'll deal with this later, he decides. Maybe even in a few days.

When he gets to the ice rink, he relishes the moment he finally gets on ice and as he starts gliding, slowly at first, he leaves all his thoughts behind.

Eddie skates until his thighs can barely support him anymore and he has to collapse on a bench to prevent himself from falling face first on the floor. As his breathing steadies, he starts hearing his mom's voice in his head again. Sobs mixed with real and fake tears, words he can't even understand, but the tone of it is accusatory, it's angry and sad and devastated.

The escape felt good but didn't last.

Eddie knows his coping methods aren't the healthiest; he knows he's running – or skating – away from his problems, he knows it shouldn't be a permanent solution, but the actual solution scares him way too much to even think about. Maybe Richie will help him change his mind about it, when they talk more, but for now he doesn't feel the tiniest bit ready to confront his fears face to face. Running away and pushing back the heavy thoughts is much easier.

So to stop hearing his mother he starts picturing things that happened last night, his friend's laughs, Mike and Ben and Bill that he's so happy he met, and Richie, Richie's smiles and his furtive glances, Richie's pink cheeks and red lips, Richie's brown eyes, magnified by his glasses, Richie's body against his when they slept. The thought of him is soothing, there's something in his aura that's so endearing, so trusting and soft, and it makes Eddie bite his lower lip to avoid smiling like an idiot in the middle of the street.

He's had a few boyfriends before, but rarely anything serious, given how he had to hide it from his mother, like everything else, and his anxious nature didn't help either. They'd always have to sneak around, and not everybody, when the time comes, finds themself able to react quickly when they see someone have a panic attack. Most of the time it would make them freak out in return the first time, and then, when it happened again, they'll find a reason to break it off without sounding too mean, and even if Eddie knew, deep down, why they left, he couldn't find it in himself to be angry at them.

Because if he'd been in the same situation, he would have run away too.

Instead Eddie is angry at himself for being so fucking _weak_ all the time, he's angry at his mother for raising him like that in the first place, he's angry at everything for being just too damn stressful.

Stan used to be like that when he first met him, angry at the world, ready to snap back at it, constantly on edge, his OCD getting the better part of him. And then it was too much and Stan had enough, so when he started thinking about killing himself, he gathered courage Eddie still can't find in himself, got out in the world he hated so much and asked for help.

And then, slowly, really slowly, he started getting better.

Eddie's still at the point where it's starting to become too much, but it's not _too much,_ really, so he's still kind of in denial about all of it, knowing there's a problem, but not entirerly aware of how much of a problem it really is.

Someday, he will.

He texts Richie when he's on his way to his house, as promised.

*

Richie is smoking on the front porch when he gets there, shivering in a hoodie and slippers.

“What the fuck, Rich, do you want to get sick? Get inside, it's fucking freezing! Also get that cigarette away from me.”

“I'm happy to see you too, Eds, my love”, Richie answers, grinning while he tries to wrap Eddie in a hug.

“You don't get to touch me until we're inside. I can't fucking believe you, you fucking dumbass.”

Richie doesn't complain and he does as he's told, putting out his cigarette in the snowy ashtray next to the door before following Eddie inside with a huge grin.

It's only when he's finally got rid of all his layers that Eddie snuggles himself against Richie's chest, arms around his waist, nose burried in his neck.

Richie smells like cold and smoke and shampoo, and his hair tingles where it falls on Eddie's face.

“I really am happy to see you, even if you're a fucking dick turd, you know?” Eddie murmurs in his ear, kisses his jaw gently.

“Is it weird that you calling me a fucking dick turd, whatever the fuck that is, kinda turned me on? Also is it weird to say I missed you even if we saw each other like, not even twelve hours ago?”

“Yeah, it is”, he says playfully, “But I kinda missed you too, so I don't care”, he adds with a smile.

Maggie pops out of the kitchen as Richie'sleaningin for a kiss, her black hair neatly tied in a low bun behind her head, looking as elegant as always.

“Eddie, my dear! It's a pleasure too see you, Richard told us you would be coming tonight. I was just finishing up dinner, have you eaten already?”

She kisses him on the cheeks as he answers, puts a few strands of his hair back into place. She takes him to the dining room with a smile, where Liam is already sitting next to a girl.

“You can sit just over there, darling. This is Liam's new girlfriend, Charlie.”

Liam greets him with a wink and Charlie smiles quickly before turning back to her boyfriend. Behind him, Richie sighs.

“She's been acting like a real class-A bitch ever since she got here”, he whispers in his ear, and Eddie snorts, because she has to be really arrogant for Richie to call her a bitch. He hates that word.

Wentworth brings them their plates a few minutes later, and Eddie can't help but notice that both times he's been here, he's always seen Maggie and him prepare dinner together. He wonders if it's like this everyday.

He eats quickly since practice has made him quite hungry, and doesn't refuse when Maggie proposes him a refill. He dismisses Richie's jokes with a heavy look before he can even say them, and manages to finish eating before everyone is over with their first plate.

“So, Charlie”, Richie asks with his mouth still full, “whaddya see in my brother?”

“Richard, please finish what you're eating before you talk. Nobody wants to see the contents of your mouth.”

“Right”, Richie swallows loudly, and then turns back to Charlie. “So? What do you see in him? I mean, I got all the looks _and_ the brains when we were born, so like, what's left?” he finishes with a cocky smile while Liam rolls his eyes.

“I have the feeling he's the one with a brain, and he's clearly the one that got the looks. And the good fashion sense”, she answers, eyeing him severely.

It's true that Richie doesn't have the best fashion sense, Eddie thinks as he turns to him. His glasses have been out of style for years, his outfits nevers match, bold patterns with bolder patterns, hawaiian shirts over long-sleeved t-shirts, but it's kind of rude for a total stranger to call him out on it. What's even more rude, though, is her saying he's not intelligent when she doesn't even know him.

It also seems like Eddie's not the only one thinking that, because both Liam and their parents have stopped eating and are looking at her, completely incredulous.

Eddie can feel Richie's legs sligthly tense up under the table, and he doesn't miss the way his jaw tightens for a second.

Richie just scoffs.

“Clearly, you two are a match made in heaven”, he adds, and if he smiles, the upper part of his face is completely blank.

The few following minutes are a bit awkward, until Wentworth gets Eddie to start talking about his speed skating trainings, and then things get back to normal, aside from the fact that Richie stays weirdly silent.

They all help clean up when dinner is over, and soon enough Eddie and Richie find themselves on the couch downstairs, searching for something to watch on netflix.

Eddie is about to ask if everything's okay when Liam and Charlie arrive, both tense, and sit down on the loveseat.

It's a weird situation, the four of them in the same room, clearly not comfortable, as if they were forced to be there.

“So...” Liam starts, clearly trying to break the ice, “Saturday was cool?”

“Yeah, it was pretty cool.”

“None of your fucking buisness.”

Eddie and Richie answer at the same time, and Liam raises an eyebrow, giving his brother a weird look before turning to the TV.

“So, you're gonna put on a movie or what?”

“Calm down, we were trying to decide on something. How about this?”

“Brokeback Mountain? You feel like crying tonight, Tozier?” Liam asksplayfully as Richie shrugs.

There's a few seconds of silence, and then:

“Isn't that the movie about the two faggots that fuck next to their sheep or something?” Charlie asks, and Eddie sees red.

Red as in he's about to scream every insult that come to his mind, but Liam beats him to it.

“What the fuck, Charlie!”

“What? What did I say?”

“You can't just use the word faggot like it's not a slur! What the fuck?”

“Are you kidding me? You told him he was a fag, like, two hours ago and I didn't call you out on it!”

“Yeah, but he's my _twin brother_ and I _love him,_ you absolute idiot! He's literaly given me the permission! Who the fuck do you think I am?”

“Are you seriously loosing your shit on me because of something so fucking stupid? You know I could care less about your brother taking it up the ass, I don't give a fuck about gays!”

Richie tenses up so bad next to Eddie when she starts talking about him it's actually scary. Eddie turns to him, asks if he wants to leave but gets no answer in return, even when he places a hand on Richie's thigh. In front of them, Liam and Charlie are still screaming at each other like they're alone in the house, until it gets too much, and Liam yells at her to get the fuck out, and she leaves slamming doors.

It takes them a while to start moving again. Maggie and Wentworth come see if everything's okay, and they all nod slowly, words still stuck in their throats.

Richie puts on _Brokeback mountain,_ and they all sit in silence to watch the movie.

Richie starts crying about fifteen minutes into the movie, and soon Liam follows.

When it's finally over, they both leave the room to go upstairs without a word, leaving Eddie with their parents, still emotional from the past hour.

He wants to go and find Richie but decides agaisnt it, knowing full well it might ruin his moment with his brother. They clearly have to talk, both of them. Still, though, he shifts in his seat, doesn't know if he should say something, or move, or do anything. Wentworth is finally the one to break the awkwardness surrounding them.

“You know, Eddie, I've never seen Richard more happy than in the past few weeks.”

There it is, Eddie thinks, he's gonna have to listen to the protective dad talk, the _don't hurt my son because I'm willing to go to prison_ talk. If things are awkward now, it's only gonna get worse. He's heard it a couple times before, it's nothing new, but it feels more personnal now than before because he feels a lot closer to Richie than to any other guy he's ever been with. He takes a deep breath, and waits for the rest.

“I think you're very good for him”, Wentworth adds finally. “He smiles a lot, and he's always talking about you, always good things, too. He's very fond of you, you know. And he's been so sad for so long... It just- It feels good to see him like that.”

His voice breaks a little as he wipes a tear from his eye. Maggie puts a comforting hand on his shoulder before she takes over.

“I don't know how much my Richard has told you about his past”, she starts, her voice soft, “but he's suffered a lot. He's never had as much love as he needs, and he's never had a boyfriend that we know of either, so seeing him with you, so light an at peace, it makes us feel so very happy. I think you're both very lucky to have found each other. I'm sure he'll do you a lot of good too, he has this way of spreading joy that's so unique to him, and I know you can appreciate it truly. We're very glad you're a part of our family.”

It's taken an unexpected turn, and it's really not what Eddie thought he would be hearing, but he smiles, nods, an accepts Maggie's hug. It feels so different from his mother's, when she squeezes him so hard he stops breathing, feels claustrophobic. This one feels like a mom's hug should feel, warm, envelopping, and comforting.

Eddie feels good in her arms.

Then they talk about lighter things while they wait for the boys to come back. They ask Eddie about school, about sports, about his family, and don't push too much when he gives short answers, they tell him anecdotes about Richie when he was a child, and Eddie promises himself he'll remember them forever.

“Has he ever told you about his fear of clowns? No? Oh, you gotta hear this one. I think he was about twelve, or maybe thirteen back then, and he would always pull pranks on his mother. He was always scaring her around the corner like the little devil he is, so one morning, Maggie had this very bad idea to take revenge – yes, you heard that right, she wanted to take revenge on her twelve-year-old son – and she dressed up as a clown and hid under his bed a few minutes before he had to wake up to go to school. So Richard gets up, takes a few step away from his bed, puts on his glasses, and then she crawls from under the bed and grabs his ankle! I had never heard him scream that loud before!”

Maggie, next to her husband on the couch, is laughing so hard she can barely talk, but she catches her breath long enough to add her two cents, and Eddie can't help but start laughing too.

“He peed his pants on the spot!”

And she bursts into another fit of giggles.

“Are you talking about the time Richie pissed his pants because you scared him?”

Liam's voice interrupts them, and they all turn to face him, followed by Richie, who lets out a loud sigh.

“Wow, thank you for preserving my dignity in front of my boyfriend, mom and dad, very cool.”

Eddie freezes.

Richie said boyfriend. He called him his boyfriend.

It feels like he's fifteen all over again, getting worked up over something so silly, but at the same time it makes his insides feel warm and bubbly, to think of himself as Richie's boyfriend, because he likes him. A lot.

Maybe even a bit too much, but he doesn't care, because Richie definitely deserves all the love in the world, and even more. He smiles, thinking of what his parents said earlier. He likes them a lot, too.

Soon enough, everyone retreats to different rooms, and it's just Richie and him in the living room again.

“I'm sorry I left you alone” Richie mumbles. “Can we go cuddle in my bed?”

“Sure.”

Eddie takes Richie's hand as he guides him to his bedroom and then to the bed. They lie down next to each other, and just like last night, Richie curls up around Eddie's side. They stay silent for a few minutes.

“You called me your boyfriend”, Eddie whispers, and smiles when Richie looks back at him, panicked.

“I'm so sorry, I-I didn't mean to. I know we haven't talked about it yet and like maybe you think it's too soon which is totally cool with me but I guess I wouldn't be opposed to the idea, of, you know, being together-”

“Rich. You're spiraling. I don't think it's too soon, okay? You can relax.”

“You don't?”

“I don't”, Eddie repeats as he kisses Richie's forehead.

“So I can say you're my boyfriend?”

“Of course.”

“ _Nice._ ”

“Did you just do an imitation of Kevin from The Office? Did you just do that?”

Richie nods with a wide grin, obviously very proud of himself.

“Wow. I should not have agreed to this relationship. I hate you”, Eddie sighs dramatically, and then giggles when Richie climbs over him to kiss his face.

Kissing Richie feels as natural as breathing – no, it feels more natural than breathing, because sometimes he forgets how to breathe, but he would definitely never forget how to kiss Richie. Their mouths melt together and he circles Richie's waist with his legs, delighted by the soft moan it gets out of him. He lets his tongue glide between their lips, deepens the kiss a little, lets his hand trail on his boyfriend's back up to his hair. Richie's curls are soft between his fingers, and Eddie can feel the shiver that runs through him when he lowers his hand slightly so it rests on the nape of Richie's neck.

When they break up, Richie has stars in his eyes and a smile that could light up an entire town. Eddie notices the beauty mark he has just over his right eyebrow, a deep brown freckle over his pale skin, and also how long his lashes are, framing his eyes perfectly, dark and curled up, and how his nose is slightly crooked, probably from the time he broke it at Mike's place, but it's beautiful, everything about Richie is so beautiful it hurts.

“See something you like?”

Eddie nods as Richie leans down again to kiss him softly, slowly, and they roll over a few times, trying to find the perfect position, until Eddie is straddling his hips, bent down to kiss and suck on his neck. He doesn't leave any marks, though, since he hasn't asked Richie how he feels about that yet. He can feel Richie's erection pressing against his and he grinds his hips down tentatively, remembering what happened in Beverly's bathroom. The last thing he wants is for Richie to freak out again.

Richie seems to have forgotten about all of this because with his hands he brings Eddie's crotch down on his again, huffling a groan as he kisses him. They keep rutting against each other like two teenagers who just discovered their dicks, Richie's hands warm and firm on Eddie's hips, their voices hushed as they talk so nobody hears them.

“Fuck Eds how are you so hot can you get this off for me please i wanna feel your skin wanna touch you so bad you're so fucking hot-” he mumbles incoherently as Eddie kisses his way down his neck.

He keeps talking as Eddie removes his t-shirt, and then his pants. It feels kind of weird to be the only one in his underwear, Richie still fully clothed, but he pushes the thought at the back of his mind and keeps kissing the lips offering themselves to him. Richie's touch on his body feels electric and burning, his fingers trail down his chest until the reach the hem of his underwear. Eddie can feel his whole body burning up, like he's about to catch on fire, his cheeks are probably crimson as Richie details him with his eyes, his gaze stopping on his stomach.

“I swear you look like a wet dream” he whispers, more for himself than anything, but Eddie still hears and his cock twitches. Richie notices and raises a brow, a grin slowly forming on his lips. “Oh, you liked that, did you?”

“Yeah, asshole, I fucking did. Now get your hands back on me if you don't want me to bite your head off. Also take these off”, he says, gesturing at Richie's pants.

“Can we turn off the lights?” he asks, uncertain, as if he fears Eddie's answer, as if he'd say no, and relaxes visibly when Eddie says _yeah, of course Rich_ and lets him get up quickly to switch off the light.

He gets back fast, on all fours over Eddie, eager and kissing him blindly, his forehead, his nose, his eye, his jaw, his lips, his cheekbone, his neck, and he takes Eddie's hand in his to bring it to his pants, a silent request, one that Eddie fulfills without any issue.

He undoes his jean's buttons with trembling fingers, weirdly nervous, then the fly, and he slides them off his hips. Even though he can barely see a thing, just the thought of finally getting to touch Richie makes him even harder. He doesn't try taking off his sweatshirt, instead lets his hands wander over the thin fabric of Richie's underwear, brushing over the buldge deforming them. A shiver runs down his spine and he swallows audibly, hesitant about what to do next.

“I'm so fucking nervous”, he mutters, and it's frustrating, really, because he's done this before but it's different now that he's with Richie. It feels way more real.

“No shit”, Richie huffs. “I'm fucking stressed out of my mind too. But your hands are pretty fucking close to my dick so I'm not gonna let that stop me”, he adds, then takes Eddie's hand in his, guides it under the elastic of his boxers.

“ _Fuck_ Eds fuck fuck want you so fucking much”, he whimpers as Eddie brushes his fingers over his erection.

It's a matter of seconds before they're both naked – or at least half-naked in Richie's case – moaning in each other's mouths, trying to stay somewhat silent. Eddie's never been so hard in his life, his skin against Richie's body, warm and soft and sensitive to his touch, shivering under him, panting in his neck.

He knows he won't last long as soon as Richie starts stroking him, his face slightly flushed in the dark, lips parted and eyes half closed. He wishes the lights were on so he could see him better, because he looks so beautiful like this. He'll wait, though. It will only be better when the time finally comes.

Eddie can feel his orgasm grow hot down in his abdomen and doesn't even bother trying to hold it back because he knows Richie is on the verge of coming too, judging by the obscene sounds he's been making for the past minute. They stopped thinking about the fact that people might hear them a while ago.

“Eds I'm gonna come soon if you keep it like that feels so good fuck please”, he moans, the rest of his words dying in his throat before he can get them out.

“You gonna come for me, baby? I want you to come for me just let it go, Richie you're so beautiful I wanna see you come-”

That's what does it for Richie as he orgasms with a loud moan he tries to stiffle under his hand, and Eddie follows soon after, ejaculating all over his boyfriend's sweatshirt, and then collapsing at his side once the rush of it is over.

They stay like that for a few minutes, catching their breaths and still high from pleasure, until Richie shifts, reaching for his boxers next to their feet. He presses a soft kiss to Eddie's lips as talks.

“I'm gonna turn on the light now, ok? Can you... can you close your eyes for me?”

Eddie nods and does as he's told, and he can feel Richie's sigh of relief on the side of his face. He hears him search through his drawers and then leave the room, closing the door silently behind him. Only then Eddie opens his eyes, takes a moment to register everything that just happened. He's still sprawled naked on the bed, takes a look around him. Richie's bedroom is big and not as messy as he thought it would be, clothes lying around here and there but the floor still visible, a few pictures taped on the walls, and Eddie recognizes Bill, Ben, and Mike. He even spots Liam's face on some of them.

He sits up slowly and puts his underwear back on before standing up to take a closer look at them. Some are obviously quite old, Richie not older than thirteen, smiling wide with crooked teeth, and some more recent, a picture of Bill passed out on a couch, dicks drawn all over his face. Eddie smiles softly.

He's thankful that Richie has good friends. His relationship with his brother clearly isn't the best, and he knows just how much love and validation Richie needs. He doesn't know them that much, but from what he's gathered at Bev's birthday, they are all really good people and they all love him very much.

The door creaks behind him and he turns to face Richie, freshly changed and showered, his hair damp, glasses in hand.

“I put out a towel for you in the bathroom if you wanna shower”, he says, cheeks slightly pink. “I'm sorry I didn't invite you along, I would have, it's just, you know” he gestures at his chest, hidden under a new sweater, “secrets and all.”

“It's okay, Rich. I promise it's okay.”

He walks to him and wraps him in a hug, kissing his jaw before walking out to the bathroom.

Thank god Richie's parents make money and can afford a house with more than one bathroom, he thinks as he enters the shower, because having to confront them after jerking off their son would have been mortifying. He just hopes Liam didn't hear anything, since his bedroom is downstairs as well, because they haven't been very careful about not making noise.

He stays under the water for a while, lost in his thoughts, until he decides that maybe it's been a bit too long, and that he misses Richie already, so he gets out and quickly dries himself.

He glances at his reflection in the mirror, chest flushed, hair slicked back, and it's daunting, really, to see how much he's changed in the past few years.

Eddie has never been one about vanity, so looking at himself in the mirror isn't something he does a lot, but his mother still has old pictures of him framed and up the walls at his place, and he passes by them everyday.

Sometimes he still feels like that scrawny kid with knobbly elbows and neatly cut hair, the one that used to carry around a fanny pack full of medication he thought he needed, the one that was five foot tall most of his high school years, the one with the high-pitched voice that ranted about germs 24/7.

But as weird as it feels sometimes, he's not that boy anymore.

He grew up, hit five-ten, which is actually amazing, considering he started _finally_ getting taller at sixteen, got some muscle along the way, lost a bet and got a tattoo on his ass on one drunken night, and then, you know, he woke up one morning and he was twenty-one and an adult and he had hair on his chest.

It's hard recognizing himself, now, it's like he's a stranger, like he's only just met that new version of him, and he doesn't know much about that guy yet. He's still in a weird in-between, half the child his mom taught him to be, half the man trying to affirm his identity that's been hiding all these years.

He just wants to go back, someday, to those simpler times where he didn't have to do any thinking, where everything he thought was scripted, the same phrases his mother used to repeat all the time. His path was clear and he didn't even think about asking questions, and even if it felt suffocating at times, it also felt secure.

Like the same false sense of security carrying his fake inhaler everywhere brings him.

He chose to follow another path, though, and as proud as he is that he stood up for himself, it is still so freakishly scary, knowing he's alone now, knowing he has to make choices and assume the consequences. Knowing his mother isn't always right. Of course he has friends, but they don't bring the same comfort his mom always did, instead they push him towards the unknown, force him to make decisions by himself. They don't cradle him like he's used to, like he wants to be.

Their love is more of a tough one, and as refreshing as it is, it is not always what Eddie feels like he needs.

He sighs in his hands, trying to push away the guilt that's rotting inside of him, because what kind of person is manipulated all his life and somehow still _wants_ to keep their eyes closed and pretend everything is fine? Isn't that some kind of weird, twisted version of a Stockholm syndrome?

Sometime Eddie hates himself so much it's unbearable.

A shiver runs down his spine and jolts him out of his shame, and Eddie remembers where he is, he remembers Richie that's probably wondering what the fuck he's doing in there, so he takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, straightens up and leaves the bathroom without a spare glance for his reflection.

When he gets back to the bedroom, Richie is curled up under the covers, looking at some old vines compilation on his phone, talking along to them, like he's watched that exact video hundreds of times already.

“Road work ahead? Uh, yeah, I sure hope it does!” he mutters, not even realizing Eddie's entered the room.

“Do you watch vine compilations just so you can quote them later?” Eddie asks as he lies down next to him, making him jolt up with surprise. “And there I was, thinking you were actually funny.”

“Eddie, Eds, Eddie-spaghetti, I can quote vines daily and _still_ be funny. It's all about comedic timing, my dear.”

He's beaming, and it's hard for Eddie to keep pretending he's exasperated when he sees him like that. Vines are still playing on his phone, but he's not looking at them anymore.

_Stop! I coulda dropped my croissant!_

_Hi welcome to chili's!_

_Two bros, chilling in the hot tub, five feet apart 'cause they're not gay!_

“You quoted that one yesterday”, Eddie remarks, and Richie only smirks.

“It was of circumstance.”

“Right. Right. Hey, is everything cool with your brother?” he asks, changing the subject abruptly.

Richie seems to think for a moment.

“Yeah, I guess it's cool. I mean, he's never stood up for me before, so yeah, I think things are like... starting to get better between us or something. Feels weird, though.”

“You know, your parents told me we were lucky to have found each other, earlier. They said I was good for you.”

“Wow, that's actually embarrassing. And then they told you about the time I pissed my pants at twelve. I'm surprised you're still here. Thought you would have run away by now.”

He's smiling but Eddie can hear the self-depreciating tone in his voice, like he would have got it if Eddie left, like it's a good reason. It's subtle, and it can be brushed off as a joke, but Eddie can't accept it like that, and his temper flares up quickly.

“Why the fuck would you say this?” He snaps before he can even try and think of a better approach. “Do not fucking do that kind of shit with me, I swear, or I'm gonna rip your face up with my bare teeth. Fuck, you're such an idiot. You think I'd leave just because your parents are awkward and told me some weird anecdotes? Dude, my life is one fucking weird anecdote! Wanna know something actually embarrassing? I pissed my pants like a year ago because I was drunk and having a panic attack and I had no control over my body whatsoever. I had to take the bus home. You think I'd leave just because twelve-year-old-you was shit scared of clowns? I don't give a fuck about that shit! Fuck, you're infuriating, I swear to god I will- Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason. I just think you're cute.”

“I'm not going for cute, I'm going for enraged.”

“It's not working, I'm sorry. You're being so fucking cute it makes me feel dizzy.”

Richie's looking at him with a wide grin, and even if it's not what he was aiming for, him getting called cute, he's at least relieved Richie's got it. He groans when Richie laughs at the blush that's covering his cheeks, burrying his face in the pillow.

“Eds! Don't hide your pretty face from me!”

They fight for a few minutes, Richie trying to force him to turn his face to him, Eddie resisting as hard as he can, until Richie starts kissing his neck and running his fingers through his hair.

“Eddie, baby, look at me...” His voice is barely a whisper in his ear, and Eddie can't stop the goosebumps that cover his skin at the sound. A few more soft kisses on his nape and he's a quivering mess on the matress.

He turns to face Richie's gleaming gaze, lets out a relaxed sigh.

“I like you so much, Eds” he murmurs, bringing him closer. “So, so much.”

It feels good, lying there in Richie's arms, nose glued to his sweater, fingers tickling the bottom of his back.

“I like you too”, he mumbles agaisnt his chest, smiles when he feels the hug become tighter.

It feels really, really good.

*

Eddie wakes up alone in Richie's bed. His phone tells him it's 5:15, but no sign of his boyfriend anywhere in the room. He rolls over and gets up, takes the first sweatshirt and jogging pants he finds in Richie's closet and exits the room quickly, careful not to make any noise.

Lights are off everywhere upstairs, no noise to break the silence. Eddie is about to turn around when he sees him behind the window.

Richie is smoking on the porch, eyes closed, taking in the dim light of the morning sun. It's only starting to show itself, and in its yellow light, Richie looks like a vision from another world, bathing in golden honey, cheeks and nose red from the cold, his curls a mess. He is so beautiful Eddie stops breathing for a moment, frozen in place, and then time starts back again, and he gets back downstairs. He doesn't bother trying to sleep, though, since he knows he won't be able to.

He can hear Richie's footstep on the floor over him, and then walking down the stairs, and then to the bedroom. He jumps slightly when he opens the door to see his boyfriend perfectly awake, but calms down immediately when he notices he's wearing his clothes.

“Cute cute cute, Eddie-spaghetti, so _cute_ ”, he beams.

They spend the rest of the morning cuddling on the bed, Eddie petting Richie's hair until he has to get up and prepare to go to school.

The weekend went by so fast, he can't believe it's already over.

“I don't want you to go”, Richie nuzzles in his neck as Eddie tries to get up. “Wanna spend the whole day here with you.”

But he lets him go nonetheless, smiling to himself as he sees Eddie deliberately leaving some of his stuff behind him.

Eddie always gets to school fairly early, first because he's chronically anxious and the idea of being late terrifies him, second because it gives him the time to get his stuff ready and complete some assignements last minute. He texts Stan as soon as he gets there; Stanley has this very specific schedule he can't buldge off, and always get and leave school at the same time, no matter how many or how few classe he has that day.

They meet at their usual spot at the library.

“So?” Stan asks as soon as he sees him, “How was the rest of your weekend?” He wiggles is eyebrows, a huge grin on his face.

Now it's not that Eddie doesn't like talking about those kind of things but... he doesn't like talking about those kind of things. And yet, his friends are two of the most curious people he knows.

“It was good”, he says simply, ignoring his friend's heavy look as he sits down.

“ _Good?_ Dude you spent forty-five minutes making out in a bathroom, it had to be better than good.”

“It was great, then.”

“Alright, I get it, you wanna be all secretive on me. Guess I'll keep my secrets to myself too.”

As much as Eddie hates talking about his personnal life, he _loves_ hearing about other people's personnal lives. He raises an eyebrow at Stan, who just shakes his head with a frown.

“It's give and take, Eddie, you know this. So if you want to hear what I've been up to yesterday – and trust me you _do_ want to know, you'll have to share too.”

“Low blow, Stan, but fine: we watched Brokeback Mountain with his family then jerked each other off in his bedroom. Happy now?”

“Gentlemen, I would kindly ask you to bring this conversation elsewhere or to shut your mouth. It is quite inappropriate.”

Eddie turns around, mortified, to face the librarian, who's staring at him with a stern look, and then the few other students that obviously all heard him. He feels the heat rise to his face so fast he thinks his head might explode.

And then he promptly runs out of the library to go have his panic attack elsewhere.

*

When Eddie gets home that night he doesn't notice his mother is not there. He sends Richie a quick text before getting in the shower, drained from his training, and only when he gets out does he realize the house is strangely silent, no soap opera playing in the living room, no sniffling from the kitchen. He takes a quick look around, nothing, no car parked in the driveway either.

An uneasy feeling settles in his stomach as he eats a bowl of cereals and he has to throw them out in the toilet, unable of eating any more.

It's not usual for his mom to go out and not tell him, but then again, maybe it's her take on revenge, maybe she wants him to know what it's like to worry. He wouldn't put it past her.

The feeling only grows worse with time, and then even more when midnight comes and there's still no sign of her anywhere.

It takes him a while to fall asleep, shifting in his bed, uncomfortable, and when he does, he dreams of pills and his mom's voice and hospital sounds.

His phone rings in the middle of the night.

“ _Edward Kaspbrak?_ ” the voice on the other end of the line asks, and Eddie nods, then answers out loud when he realizes they can't see him. “ _I am calling from Notre-Dame's hospital about your mother, Sonia Kaspbrak. You were listed as her emergency contact._ ”

Eddie feels like he might puke.

“Did something happen to her?”he asks, voice small, incapable of speaking any louder.

“ _Miss Kaspbrak has just been admitted at the hospital, she got caught in a car crash. She's in a critical state, undergoing surgery as we speak. If you could come so we can discuss about it further, this would-”_

But Eddie doesn't listen anymore. He throws up on the floor, hangs up and calls a taxi.

Everything that follows is blurry. The taxi driver tries to talk to him during the ride, quickly stops when he doesn't get any answer. He throws up a second time when he gets out, and then walks inside the building, trying to ignore the smell, the neon lights and the buzzing sound in his ears. At reception, he says he's there for Sonia Kaspbrak, and a nurse comes to him, guides him to the doctor's office. He waits alone, his leg bouncing at high speed, and when the doctor finally comes to sit in front of him, she has that sad look people get when they are about to give someone bad news.

He understands most of the words she says. He hears trauma, fractured ribs, punctured lung, he hears broken arm, concussion, wounds, he hears surgery, stitches, coma.

His vision gets hazy, he nods, then she starts asking him questions, about life insurance, house payments, legal obligations, and he can see himself answering them, strangely calm, but his insides are exploding, and it's like his soul has detached from his body.

He looks at the scene like a spectator.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, it's Richie, of course he's up at five in the morning, it's his usual sleep schedule, but Eddie doesn't have the strenght to open the message.

He sits in the waiting room, never moving, only waiting for someone to tell him he can go see her.

It's weird, he thinks, how collected he looks from the outside. His breathing is somewhat steady, and even if he feels like his heart is about to bust out of his chest, even if he feels he might fall apart at any moment now, he stays still. Looks at a magazine without registering what he's seeing. Pictures, colors, blurry words.

It takes a few hours for someone to tell him his mother his out of surgery, that she's out of danger for now. That she's still in coma.

“Her body has kind of shut down due to the trauma”, the nurse explains. “It's self-preservation. Right now, it's focusing all of its energy on healing. She's stable and we are monitoring her very closely, but we can't tell you when she'll wake up. It can be a few hours, it can be a few days. It can be longer. What's important right now is that she's in a stable state, and there seems to be no apparent brain damage. You can see her, if you want.”

The vision is odd. His own mother, lying in a hospital bed, breathing tubes and needles stuck in her arm, like some scene out of a movie, and him, standing next to her like a helpless child.

He sits down on a chair as the nurse leaves him alone with her, closing the door behind him.

His phone buzzes again. Still Richie.

_**Richie** _

_good morning sunshine_

_i miss u already_

_also whats up_

_u still coming over tonight?_

_**Eddie** _

_My mom is in a coma_

It's a matter of seconds before his screen lights up again with an incoming call from Richie. Eddie doesn't even have the time to say anything, though, because he beats him to it.

“ _Eds! Holy shit are you okay? What happened? Is she gonna be okay? What the fuck when did this happen like tonight? Holy fucking shit are you holding up?_ ”

“Yeah, I mean, I don't know. She had a car accident, it was pretty bad, actually. They don't know when she's gonna wake up.”

He takes a deep breath, and then:

“Rich, is it wrong if I feel... relieved?”

“ _Eddie where are you right now? Are you still at the hospital?_ ”

“Y-yeah, I am.”

“ _Ok, stay there, I'm coming to pick you up, and then we'll go back home and we can talk about it, okay? Just- don't panic, I'll be there in a few minutes._ ”

A dry sob escapes him.

What's wrong with him? How can he feel that way about his mother being in a coma? He can hear her cry in his head, he can hear her accusing him of abandoning her, of leaving her alone, of _hating her_ , and as much time as he spends telling her that all of this is false, he still can't help the gut-wrenching thought of her being actually right.

Because what else can it be?

How can a boy that doesn't hate his mother feel at peace with the idea of her... not being there? Of her being badly injured? All those times he'd wish she would just disappear, leave him alone, he thought it was just him being dramatic, but the more he digs into it, the more he realizes he actually meant it. And to this day, he still does.

He still wishes she'd disappear, so he can finally be free of her, so he can stop hearing her voice in his head at all times, so he can forget about his childhood memories.

He is not a good son, he thinks, and she's been right all this time. All this time he thought she was manipulating him when in reality, she was just stating facts.

Eddie Kaspbrak hates his mother.

He's jolted out of his thoughts by Richie bursting into the room, envelopping him in a hug so tight he stops to breathe.

“Fuck, Eds, let's get out of here, okay? Let's get you in some comfy clothes and get some food in you, you're so pale, fuck, I'm so sorry, let's- let's just leave, alright?”

His voice is soft but his tone is urgent and Eddie nods, words stuck in his throat, and he follows him in the parking lot, in his father's car, and then, twenty minutes later, in his house.

Richie sits him on the couch downstairs, runs to the bathroom to get him some water, then sits next to him, pressed against his side, his eyes wide and sad and panicked.

“Eddie... talk to me.”

It takes him everything to finally let the words out, and they sound strangled, broken, as he speaks.

“She had a car accident. She had a car accident and the hospital called me in the middle of the night and told me to come so they could give me all the information and see her, they told me she was in surgery, because she has a lot of broken bones and apparently she lost a lot of blood also and then when she was out they told me she was in a coma because apparently it was her body's way to heal but they also said that they don't know when she'll wake up and it can take a while for some people, and some people never actually wake up so I don't know what's going to happen with her but the only thing I know is that I don't feel how I should be feeling and I'm an awful person because I'm not sad, and I know if she died I wouldn't be sad either and how fucked up is that? How fucked up do I have to be to not care what happens to my fucking mother? She's my _mother_ for fuck's sake! I should be sad, I should be devastated but I'm-I'm not and it's fucking scary because what am I feeling then?”

Once he starts he can't stop, and Eddie keeps talking for an hour, rambling, circling around, and Richie stays oddly silent, but he listens to him the whole time, rubbing his back and kissing his hair.

“You're not an awful person”, he whispers when Eddie is finally done, “You're not an awful person for thinking that and it's okay if you're not sad. She fucked you up pretty bad, Eddie, I think it's normal you feel that way, I think I would too if I was you. But it doesn't make you a bad son, or whatever you think you are.”

“But it's so... It's so fucking terrifying Richie, you don't even know, what am I gonna do without her? I keep thinking about how bad a mother she was but I never think about how bad of a child I was to her, and now what do I do? I'm fucking alone with my fucking placebo inhaler, and I feel fucking helpless because I know I can't go to her if I get in trouble.”

“But would you go to her if she was there? If you were in trouble right now and she was not in the hospital, would you go to her for help?”

No, he wouldn't, and deep down, he knows it. But he feels so guilty to admit it out loud that he stays silent, and burries his face in Richie's chest instead.

They stay like that for a while, not really comfortable but not willing to move, until Eddie has to drink water.

“I feel like shit” he mutters as he sets the glass aside, rubbing his temples. “I just want to take a shower and then a nap.”

“How about you take a bath instead? The one upstair's pretty dope. I could wash your hair.”

He wiggles his eyebrows and Eddie chuckles softly, getting up.

“Okay”, he says, “Let's do that.”

It's true the bath is pretty dope. It's one of those rich persons baths, standing on feet and deep enough to do snorkeling in it. Richie adds bubbles, “for a magical effect”, he says, but really all he does is try to give Eddie a Santa Claus beard.

In the bathroom it's like the outside world doesn't exist anymore. Eddie's surrounded in warm water and Richie is sitting besides him, a soft smile on his lips as he runs his fingers on Eddie's palm, tracing the lines in them, trying to read his fortune.

“So this line means you're gonna live long and this one says you're hot and this one says you'll have some awesome sex with your boyfriend in the near future- don't look at me like that! I'm just repeating what the lines tell me!”

Richie does wash his hair, and it feels a lot better than Eddie's anticipated, even if he keeps getting shampoo in his eyes and Richie can't stop kissing the tip of his nose. He gets out only when the tip of his fingers and toes get all wrinkly and the water starts to turn colder.

Richie envelops him in a fresh towel he put in the dryer just for him, then gives him his comfiest pajamas, which is a Stitch one-piece.

“Richie, I'm not wearing that.”

“Come on! I swear it's super soft and warm! And also you'll look super cute in it. Look, there's even the ears on the hood! You can't say no to that, Eds!”

Eddie gives in, rolling his eyes as he puts it on, and absolutely refuses to admit that it _is_ pretty soft and warm and comfortable. They cuddle on the couch, watch their favourite episodes of _The Office._

“Do you think we're like Jim and Pam?” Richie asks, a lovesick smile on his face.

“Fuck no” is Eddie's answer, and he takes his sweet time adding the rest of it, smirking at Richie's lost eyes; “We're clearly Dwight and Angela. Giant fucking weirdo and judgemental tiny bitch.”

Richie snorts.

“Tiny? You're not Tiny, you're more ripped than me! Look at all those muscles!” He takes Eddie's bicep in his hand, as if to prove his point, and then points at his thighs. “You're more like a thick boy.”

“Please don't ever say I'm thick again or I will end you.”

“Why? It's true! My Eddie's a thick baby! Look at those legs! Pretty sure you can crush a watermelon between those.”

“I can, actually. I tried once to impress Stan. I think I still have the video somewhere.”

“What the- Can you send that to me? For research purposes of course. I am most definitely _not_ gonna jerk off to a video of you crushing the life out of a watermelon with your bare thighs. Like why would that turn me on. It's so... not hot. At all. Pf. As if.”

“Right. Then I guess I'll keep the video to myelf. Wouldn't want to gross you out, you know.”

“Eds. I was lying. Please send me the video. My life depends on it.”

They laugh.

Eddie falls asleep sometime in the afternoon, his head on Richie's thighs, and he's so out of it he doesn't even wake up when Wentworth gets back home and Richie leaves the couch.

When he does wake up, though, he realizes he's in Richie's bed, alone. He looks at his phone to see what time it is and notices he's got a couple texts from Richie.

_**Richie** _

_hey baby_

_hope youre sleeping well_

_i had my father carry you down here cause you're too damn heavy and I cant get down the stairs with you in my arms_

_didnt want to like_

_drop you_

_so anyways when you wake up you can come upstairs_

_theres food and also im trying to bake cookies at the moment_

_so we'll see how that turns out_

_i didnt say anything about your mother to my parents_

_didnt know if you wanted to keep it a secret or not_

_also you're the cutest in this pajamas and i took pictures_

He smiles fondly as he reads the texts, then gets up and heads upstairs, not even caring about what he's wearing. Knowing Richie, he's probably shown the pictures he took already anyways.

When he opens the door he can hear the voices of Richie's family coming from the kitchen, and he stays there at the top of the stairs for a moment, listening to it. There's something comforting in their tone, and for an instant, a very short second, Eddie feels at home.

He's greeted by Maggie when he enters the room, and then immediately after by Richie, who lifts him into a tight hug.

They all eat together like it's the most common thing, and eat Richie's cookies which are surprisingly tasty but a little dry. As peaceful as all of it feels, though, Eddie can't stop thinking about his mother, and the guilt paralyzes him from inside. It's vicious, and insidious and everytime he forgets about it even for a minute, it comes back even angrier after. The thoughts spiral in his head, completely out of control, and Eddie tries his best to hide his dizziness, until it becomes too much, his vision completely blurred, the people in front of him merely spots of colors. He stands aprubtly, determined to leave the table and not make a show out of this but he drops his fork on the floor and he hits the doorframe as he gets out.

He barely makes it the the bathroom before he collapses on the floor, spilling the contents of his stomach in the toilet. He retches one time, then another, until nothing else but bile comes out and his throat is burning.

Richie kneels next to him, caresses his back softly as Eddie sobs uncontrolably, clinging to the toilet to stay up. His body is shaked by violent spasms still, but he doesn't feel the need to puke anymore. He lays on the ceramic tiles, forgetting about all the germs and bacteria as he presses his face on it to cool down. It's like everything is falling apart, the ground is crumbling under him, the room is getting smaller with each passing second.

Richie holds his hand, speaking words that Eddie can't understand, and they stay there for a long, long time.

An hour has passed since Eddie calmed down, but he's still not able to move, completely lethargic, his thoughts keeping him nailed to the floor. His breathing is still uneven but at least he's _able_ to breathe, and Richie is still sitting next to him.

When he sees Eddie looking up to him, he smiles, but his eyes are worried.

“Hey Eds”, he whispers. “Good to have you back. How are you feeling?”

“Tired.” He clears his throat to get rid of his raspy voice, but it's no use. “Also really fucking ashamed. I made a scene.”

“Hey, it's okay, you're going through some crazy intense shit at the moment, nobody's judging you.” He takes a pause to stroke his face, his fingers cold against Eddie's burning skin. “Do you want to go lie down somewhere more comfortable? I can help you get up.”

Eddie nods slowly, and takes the hand Richie's offering him. Getting up his as hard as he thought it would be, and then staying up is another misson. He leans on Richie, his legs wobbly under him, as they get downstairs.

They get on the bed facing one another, quiet.

“I don't know what to do if she wakes up and I don't know what to do if she doesn't. It's like, I'm stuck and I have to chose between these two awful options. The first one being that she comes back home and things stay the same, or the second one, having to cope with the fact she'll maybe never come back and my last conversation with her was basically me trying to convice her I didn't hateher even if I was lying. And it makes me feel so guilty that I actually want her to wake up, so things can return to normal, and she can start trying to manipulate me again. _Fuck_ I'm terrified, Rich, I'm so fucking terrified.”

Richie doesn't have an answer to offer so he just does what he feels is the best thing, and holds Eddie against his chest.

It's no miracle, but it does make Eddie feel a tiny bit better. Maybe he can get through this if he's not alone, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!! the drama !!!!
> 
> when i started writing this story i had no plans to include that, but it kind of got away from me. it plays an important part in Eddie's emotional healing, too.   
> next chapter will focus on Richie's relationship with his brother! anybody curious about what they talked about when Charlie left? we'll have some brotherly ~bonding~
> 
> anyways, hope you liked this chapter, leave a comment if you enjoyed! i like reading your thoughts <3 hope you have a great weekend!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoo! new chapter! it took me longer to edit this one, i don't know why. i had more work to do on it, i think. anyways, for this chapter you'll be getting a lot of liam, and a whole lotta fluff as well. 
> 
> trigger warnings include: 
> 
> tw for use of gay slurs  
> tw for mentions of suicide  
> tw for mentions of hospital  
> tw for mentions of self-harm  
> tw for mentions of bullying  
> tw for explicit sexual content

Richie Tozier has not had a lot of serious talks with his brother: he's had three, to be exact, each more stressful than the last.

The first one was when they were fifteen, at the end of august, a few days before school started back again. They were outside, lying on the grass in the backyard, sharing one of their first cigarettes. Their parents were at work and weren't coming back for a couple hours, and they'd both smoked once or twice before, but none of them had taken the habit yet. Only Richie would fall into it later.

The afternoon wind was hot, the sky blue, and the sun, scorching. They were hidden in the shadow of their apple tree, safe from the burning heat.

They had already started to grow apart, but still, from time to time, they tried to act like they did years ago, tried to ignore the awkwardness they both felt when they were together.

“So? Excited for school?” Liam had asked, passing Richie the cigarette.

“Why the fuck would I be?”

“I don't know... You'll get to see Bill more.”

“I already see Bill like every day, dude. The only people I'll see more are the ones that hate me”, he sighed. He was most definitely not ready for it to start back. He thought about the petition he kept, folded in four, hidden in one of his drawers.

“Nobody hates you, Rich, you're being dramatic.”

“Right, nobody hates me. Okay. I must be imagining things”, Richie snapped, taking a drag a bit too deep and coughing a few times afterwards. “People – your friends – pushing me around, hiding my things, calling me a faggot, must be all in my head.”

“No, that's not what I'm saying, but it's like, playful hazing. You're taking it too seriously.”

“Yeah, that's probably it. Richie Tozier; can't take a fucking joke.”

Liam had rolled his eyes, clearly exasperated, and Richie did the same, though it was not for the same reasons. His brother was in a bubble so thick he couldn't see or hear anything that happened to people other than him. If he did, he chose to ignore it, and Richie didn't know which one he like best. Both options made him feel awful.

The worst in all of this, though, was that Richie still found himself wanting to reach out to Liam. It was desperate, that need, because deep down he knew it wouldn't change anything, yet he still wanted his brother to be there for him. He was at that weird cross where he wanted to run towards and away from him at the same time; terrified of what could come out of it but somehow hopeful it could be something good.

They stayed silent for a while. Liam threw the finished cigarette over the fence.

“They're right, you know”, Richie let out in a whisper so low his brother could barely hear it.

“Right about what?”

“What they say about me. The rumors.”

“You're gay?”

He had said _gay._ That's not the word that was heard around at school, though, but Liam didn't say that word, maybe because he didn't think about it, or maybe it was in an awkward attempt to show Richie he did care about him, in his distant, teenage way.

“Yeah. I mean, I think. I'm pretty sure. I'm gay.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? That's all you have to say?”

Richie had propped himself on his elbows, glaring at his brother with an incredulous look. Surely that wasn't the only thing he had to answer to his coming out. It couldn't be; people he didn't know had more to say about it, and all his twin brother could think of was _okay?_

“Yeah. I mean, you like sucking dick. Big deal. As long as it's not my dick I don't know why I should care. Live your best life, man.”

Richie chuckled bitterly.

“Live my best life. Right.”

He laid down again, avoiding Liam's curious glance. Instead he stared at the sky and hoped his eyes would absorb back his tears. Crying in front of his brother was not something he was ready for.

“Why are you being such a drama queen, man?”

“Fuck you”, Richie spat. “You don't get it.”

Liam sighed, eyes closed, then turned back to Richie with a stern look on his face.

“Of course I don't. You won't talk about it.”

“Okay, then, what do you want to hear? You want me to cry on your shoulder, want me to explain to you how your fucking friends call me a faggot when they see me? Because I'm pretty sure you've seen that happen already. Or do you want me to talk about the time Bowers slammed my face in my locker's door so hard he broke my glasses? Oh wait- you saw that too-”

“Alright, alright!” Liam interrupted, clearly irritated. “I get it. I'm the worst fucking brother. What do you want from me, you want me to be your knight in shining armor? Want me to save you from the claws of the meanies that call you names from time to time? Welcome to the world, Rich! We're all fucking alone, and you can't expect people to save you all the time! Just fucking man up like everyone, and everything's gonna be just fine.”

It was nothing compared to what Richie heard about him at school on the daily, but this, this hurt way more than anything else. Maybe it was because it came from the mouth of his twin brother, the one person that was supposed to support him, or maybe it was because Richie heard it as a proof of his weakness, as a confirmation people were _right_ about him.

It hurt anyways.

“Man up. You're right. That's all it takes.”

He crossed his arms tightly over his chest. He felt cold all of a sudden, despite the afternoon sun and the heavy air. A shiver ran down his spine, and Richie tried to focus all of his energy on the clouds he could see above him. He searched for shapes he could recognize, but all he saw was failure and loneliness.

Next to him, Liam stayed silent, his jaw tight like it usually was when he got angry, his arms straight and tense on each side of him. He sighed after a while, and when he talked again, his voice was a bit softer.

“You know it's all bullshit, right?” His words came out as a whisper, strangled like he had to force them to come out. “What everyone is saying about you. It's bullshit.”

“I don't know about that. Rumors said I was a fag before I even thought about it. Maybe they're right about the rest too.”

“They're not. I wish you believed me.”

“And I wish you gave me reasons to believe you, but hey, welcome to the world, Liam.”

The conversation ended with Richie running inside to grab his keys and then running out of the house, only to come back hours later, tired and sweaty.

He took a shower.

Broke.

A thousand pieces of him on the floor, washed away in the drain.

Was never able to recollect them all.

To this day, some of them are still stuck somewhere in the house's plumbling.

Their second talk was at the hospital. Richie had woken up a few minutes earlier but hadn't opened his eyes yet, therefore he didn't see Liam sitting next to the bed. He took the time to collect himself, to feel the burn on his forearms, aching under thick layers of gauze, took the time to breathe through the pain in his throat. Memories were coming back to him in flashes. The deep, red wounds on his arms, the blood, Liam's scream. An ambulance. Doctors. Liam crying. His mother wrecked cry when she got to his room, his father's hand in his hair. It felt like a dream, incoherent and blurry.

And then it dawned on him that all of it was very real. Wrong, and warped, but real.

He opened his eyes. Blinked a few times.

“Shit, you're up”, Liam's voice muttered next to him, and only then did Richie spared him a glance.

That was not his brother. The individual sitting next to him, that couldn't be his brother. The bags under his eyes had never been that dark. He never would have allowed his hair to look like such a mess. For a short moment Richie thought he was staring at a mirror, but his reflection didn't follow his movements, it wasn't wearing glasses. Oddly enough, Liam and him had never looked more like twins than at this exact moment.

“You look like shit”, Richie finally declared.

“I could say the same about you.”

“Yeah, but I always look like shit. Besides, I'm the one that's lying in a hospital bed right now. What are you doing here anyways?” he asked dryly.

Liam scoffed, rolled his eyes.

“What does it look like I'm doing, asshole? I was waiting for you to wake up. I was fucking worried.”

It was just then that Richie noticed the dark, brownish-red stains that were covering his brother's t-shirt. It was the one they got when they graduated high school, white, with every senior's signature on it. Good thing it was ruined.

“Wow. Your first time in years.” His voice sounded strangely hollow. “How did that feel?”

Liam's shoulders immediately tensed upas he answered. “You wanna play that game, Rich, you wanna get all high and mighty on me? I just fucking saved your life, like, hours ago!”

“I didn't _ask you_ to save my life, you fucking assshole!”

He'd felt the tears prickling at the corners of his eyes but didn't have the strenght to hold them back. It was humiliating, all of it; failing to kill himself, getting saved by his fucking brother, of all people, and then having to cope with the fact he was still very much alive, very much hurt, and very angry at the world.

His whole chest was aching.

“I wanted to die”, he sniffled, agressively wiping a tear with the back of his hand. “You couldn't even let me have that. God, you're such a fucking _hero._ I hate you so fucking much.”

“All right, I get it, you hate me. Wanna unpack all of that, you fucking baby? Tell me why you hate me so much, don't you?”

Liam's voice was trembling with rage, his hands balled into fists on his thighs. He looked like an absolute wreck. Richie felt his anger rise in his chest like magma, ready to explode, to burn everything around him. He was ready to reduce his brother to ashes.

“You wanna know why I hate you? Alright, let's talk about it. How about we start from the beginning, right? When your asshole friends started messing around with me, and you never did anything to stop them? You know that so called 'playful' hazing? How about you never, not even once, stood up for me when you saw things happen – because I know you saw them, you were always there, somewhere in the background. How about you never asked if I was okay, never tried to talk to me? And don't get me started on that conversation we had three year ago, when I tried to talked to you and you told me I was taking things too seriously, because that was a real classy move on your part. You know you were one of the first people I fucking came out to? Before mom and dad? Because I thought, for one dumb moment, that you might care or something? And then you very clearly told me you did _not_ care? How do you think I fucking felt? You never cared, you never pretended you did, and then when I finally try to fucking die like everyone wanted me to, you have the _nerve_ to fucking save me? What the fuck, who do you think you are? Why did you have to play the fucking hero? Liam saves his pathetic twin brother from death, how thoughtful! Fuck you, man!”, he spat, his voice unsually high-pitched, tears streaming down his face.

“I didn't do it for the praise, how little do you think of me? Can't you just be like everyone for one fucking time in your life and thank me, and then we can just move on?”

Liam's voice was loud and angry, his gaze on Richie felt like a thousand knives. Richie remembers thinking about how exhausting that whole conversation was. He remembers deflating.

“But I didn't want to be saved”, he let out in a breath. “I just- I just wanted to disappear. To stop feeling like there's a hole in my chest, like the ground is collapsing under my feet. I just want it to stop, Liam. It hurts so fucking much.”

He hid his face behind his hands, defeated. When he looked up, Liam was staring at him, fist covering his mouth, crying silently.

It felt weird, seeing him like this, showing actual emotion. Allowing himself to be ugly.

For a while, none of them said a thing. Liam closed his eyes and kept on crying, Richie kept on fiddling with his blanket.

“I'm sorry”, Liam finally whispered between two sobs, “I'm so, so fucking sorry Rich. I should've been there for you. I should have but I wasn't and I pretended nothing was happening because it was easier that way but I should've reached out, or at least done something, and I am so fucking sorry I didn't.” He took a deep breath before starting back, closing his eyes again a few seconds. “I was a coward. I was a coward because I thought that if I stood up for you then people would start harrassing me too and I didn't want that so I did nothing. But when I saw you in the bathroom, Rich... it fucking broke my heart. Made me realize how blind I'd been all these years. I always thought, I don't know, I guess I always thought it wasn't that serious. And truth is I love you even if I never show you, I love you so fucking much and I don't want you to die because you deserve so much more than that, you deserve so, so fucking much and you shouldn't die before you get all of it.”

A long moment of silent followed. Long, and heavy.

“You really mean that?” Richie asked after a while, his voice strangled, sounding very much like a kid himself, in fact it was as if they'd both went back in time, back when they were five and best friends and loved each other very much.

“Fuck, Rich, you deserve everything you want. You deserve good friends. A better brother. A hot boyfriend that loves you for who you are. You deserve literaly all the good things in the world. You deserve to be happy. You deserve it so fucking much. And I know it's probably too late for that but I promise you that I'll never let anyone treat you the way you've been in school. I promise I'll be there for you for the rest of my damn life.”

Richie's throat ached as he reached out for Liam's hand. He felt him tighten the grip, and they stayed like that, still crying, still so lost.

“I don't really hate you, you know. I'm just- I'm just angry. And disappointed, I guess. But as much as I tried to hate you I never could. It's fucking infuriating. Something about us being twins, I guess. That cosmic connection, and all that shit. But I don't know when I'll be ready to be like, twins again. We could start by trying being brothers, first. Maybe.”

Liam nodded.

“Yeah, okay. Brothers for now.”

“Brothers for now”, Richie repeated.

And here's the thing: when a volcano erupts, it burns everything around, spits its ashes angrily, but then when the fire cools down, and sun and rain come back again, things absorb. They absorb all the rage and the angriness, they absorb and they grow again, into something beautiful, something healthy, because as much as volcanos can be destructive, sometimes, they're what it takes for life to start back again.

Their third talk was quite different from the others, because it wasn't as much about Richie as it was about Liam. They had just watched _Brokeback Mountain_ with Eddie and their parents, and minutes before that, Liam had dumped the girl he was seeing, yelling at her to never fucking talk to him again, which was abnormal, really, because he was not one to yell, or scream, or get angry at all. He usually ignored the sentiment, pushed it back deep inside him until it was safe and secure somewhere.

But ever since he'd seen his brother, wrists open, naked in his bath, Liam's temper had changed, becoming shorter, and more explosive. They still had a weird relationship, the both of them, kinda awkward, because none of them could forget the past, but at least they tried to heal what was left. Richie being in college made it easier, too, because he didn't get harrassed anymore, did his thing, had his friends.

But that time in their downstair's living room, when Charlie had called Richie a _faggot,_ it reminded him of all those times he should have said something, and when he saw his brother frozen in place, looking like he was fifteen all over again, he saw red.

He didn't even register exactly what he said, but next thing he knew she was running out of the house, and he was going back downstairs to watch the damn movie.

And it was hard. Somewhere at the beggining, Riche had started crying, and he followed soon after, completely helpless, his head feeling so heavy all of a sudden, hands trembling.

They bot got up in the kitchen, found themselves staring at each other in silence, eyes still glassy, cheeks still wet from their tears.

“How are you feeling?” Liam had asked, having no idea whatsoever what else to say.

“Probably not as shitty as you. You just dumped your girlfriend.”

Richie filled himself a glass of water, took a sip, never breaking eye contact.

“She wasn't really... my 'girlfriend', you know. It was more of a casual thing.”

As if that made anything better. As if it erased what she'd said earlier.

“Good thing it wasn't serious, I guess. She wasn't very nice.”

“I wouldn't have dated such a bitch.”

“I wouldn't know. It's all I've ever seen you date.”

Liam shrugged.

“Yeah, fair enough.”

The air didn't feel as heavy as it once did between them, and Richie allowed himself a smile, just a twitch of his lips, really, but a smile nonetheless.

Liam had been dating around ever since he hit puberty, and everytime, it was girls that hated Richie's guts, girls that signed the infamous petition for him to kill himself, girls that snickered in the hallways when they saw him. Those kind of girls.

Therefore when he'd met Charlie, Richie hadn't been much surprised to discover she, too, was mean to an extent. He just didn't expect her to be so bold about it.

“Is that the girl you talked to me about a few weeks ago? The one that loved the mornings?” he asked, “Because she didn't seem like the type.”

“No! Fuck no. That's... that's someone else.”

Liam shuddered, opened his mouth to say something and decided against it. He crossed his arms on his chest, as if to protect himself from some sort of judgement, eyes locked on the floor.

“So who's that girl then?” Richie probed, because all of a sudden it felt like he should ask about her, like she was important, like she meant something. And maybe she did.

Liam hesitated for a moment, and then, with a cracked voice, he answered.

“She's someone else. We don't have anything official, we just... hang out.”

“Sure that's all you wanna do with her? Hang out?” Richie said, air quoting the last two words.

“I mean... I don't know. I really like her and all, but it's- it's more complicated than that.”

Richie nodded, not sure if he should keep pushing for more information, took another sip of his water. He wasn't even that thirsty, he just needed something to do. A few meters away from him, Liam looked hesitant as well, like he wanted to say something, but just didn't know how to phrase it. Like all those times when Richie had tried to reach out to him but didn't know what to say. It was weird, the roles being reversed.

“She's, um, she's trans. And like, I don't know how to feel about that. I don't know. I'm just super confused, I guess. About the whole trans thing.”

There it was.

“Well, you like her?”

“I mean, yeah, she's awesome.”

“There's your answer. That's how you feel about it. You like her.”

“Dude”, Liam rolled his eyes, “You don't get it. I don't care that she's trans. Not emotionally at least. That doesn't make her less cool. But the sex, man! What the fuck do I do about it?”

He sounded panicked, his voice barely a whisper, as if he was worried their parents may hear from downstairs. Like they'd care anyways.

Richie had been lucky on that part of his life. Even if his life at school was hell, his parents always made it better, always accepted him and cared for him, no matter what happened. Liam and him were very, very lucky.

He thought about Eddie, briefly, how he wished he knew this feeling.

“I wouldn't know”, he answered his brother after a while. “I've never had a trans girlfriend.”

“Not shit Sherlock! I've never had one either! But man, she has... she has a dick, and what if I don't like it? What do I do then, dump her? That's fucked up. Also it feels transphobic.”

“I never said that. But I'm pretty sure if you like her you'll like the sex too. Why wouldn't you? Straight people, I swear...” The last part he whispered, more to himself than anything, but Liam heard it and rolled his eyes, a smile dancing on his lips.

“I don't know, I guess I'm super binary. It's so weird for me to think of sleeping with a girl who has no vagina. _Fuck,_ I've never been so fucking confused before, I hate it. Is that how you felt when you found out you were gay? 'Cause that sucks, man.”

“Like you, in the near future.”

“Wow. Very mature. Are you proud of yourself?”

“Very much, actually”, Richie answered, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“I hate you so much, I can't believe I'm telling you all of this.”

“Can't believe it either. I guess that's us being brothers.”

“Yeah, I guess that's it.”

A few minutes passed, during which both of them stayed silent, looking at their feet, until Liam took a deep breath and started talking again.

“You think I should try?”

“Yeah. I mean, you must really like her if you're willing to go through all of... this identity crisis, or whatever that is, for her, so I'd jump if I were you. What's the worst thing that can happen? You find out you like dick after all? Hey, at least we'll have something in common.”

“You have no idea how much I hate you.”

“I think I do, actually.”

“... Thanks, anyways. I'll call her tonight.”

“Cool. I'm happy for you.”

“Yeah, me too, for you and Eddie. You're great together. I like him.”

“I like him too”, Richie said, cheeks pink. “I like him a lot.”

Later when they went back downstairs, they didn't say a word about the talk they just had, but their parents noticed the slight change in their attitude, noticed, somehow, how they looked closer. Maybe it was they way they'd looked at each other, or the soft smile on their face, or even the fact that they said good night to one another. All of these things were unusual.

But they did feel good.

*

Richie tries his best to support Eddie through his hard time. He feeds him, washes his hair when he takes baths, kisses his forehead and cuddles him all nights. There's no miracle, really, and it's all still so raw and Eddie is still so confused and terrified, and Richie just tries to be there for him.

Eddie does give him the permission to tell his parents about it, though, and Richie goes to them, crying, completely hopeless.

Then they go talk to his boyfriend, for what looks like the longest time while Richie stresses out in his bedroom. All of his assignements for school are late but he couldn't care less. He explains the situation to his teachers, and they all give him a few extra days to finish his work.

So Richie finds himself with a shitload of work to do on one weekend. Being an art student looks easy in theory, because homeworks and exams are just drawings and shit, right? But sometimes, even for an artist, drawing can be so fucking hard, being creative can feel as impossible as learning the name of every bone in the human body.

He has to write an essay describing what an exposition of his work would look like, and it's the thoughest thing he's ever had to write, because he doesn't even know what kind of an artist he is. He paints, primarly, because he loves colors and being messy, but he also loves art he can interact with , art he can touch, art he can wear and art he can hear.

So what would Richie Tozier's exposition be like, really?

He asks Eddie what he thinks about it.

“You've never really shown me what you do”, he states, and Richie can hear something that looks like disappointment in his voice. “How am I supposed to answer that?”

It's true he's never shown him anything. Eddie's seen what he puts on his instagram for everyone to see, but Richie still feels uneasy about that part of him, and it's hard enough as it is having to have his work analyzed and then graded by his teachers.

“I don't know... I'm scared you won't like it”, _or won't understand,_ but that part he doesn't add. “It's a big part of me, you know. And if you don't like it, it's like you don't like me. I don't want that to happen”, he whispers, and he sounds like an idiot, he thinks, and idiotic, self-conscious asshole that won't show his art to his boyfriend. He keeps his eyes on his computer screen, staring at the little flashing cursor up on his blank page. He hasn't written a word yet.

Still, he feels Eddie's gaze on the side of his face, hot and piercing. Eddie is sitting on his bed, papers chaotically placed all around him, but _it's a whole system,_ apparently, and he's better organized that way. Or at least that's what he pretends.

Richie finally gives in and turns to him, ready to hear him snap or something, insulted, but Eddie's eyes are soft. He's still amazed sometimes at how big and shiny they are.

“Rich...” he murmurs, “I could never not like anything you do. I like you so much. But it's okay if you're not ready.”

“I like you so much too. I'm sorry I'm such a coward.”

Richie promises himself his next artwork will be for Eddie.

On sunday, when they go to therapy, Eddie talks about his mother. His voice falters from time to time but he doesn't cry, and Richie is so proud of him, not because he held back his tears but because he actually opened up, because he got past his initial fear of sharing. And Richie likes to think that maybe he played a small role in that.

His dad gives Eddie a key to the house so he can come even when no one's there. He says he's part of the family, now, and he winks at his son. He knows how much this means to the both of them.

Richie starts preparing his project for Eddie, and he decides he'll do it at Mike's place since he can't hide it anywhere else. He's gonna paint, he knows that much, but he thinks he'll add something more to it too.

It starts with a deep red canvas; that's Eddie's color. It's aggressive and bold and intense and passionate, it's vibrant and loud and sexy and comforting all at the same time. It's everything he loves about Eddie. He starts adding on to it, doesn't even take the time to think about what he's doing, and he justs lets his hand move, brushing strokes on the canvas, and adds details with his fingers because it needs a human touch, and in the end he just ditches the brush altogether, ends up with paint smeared all over his shirt, his face, his pants.

It's freeing, painting without brushes, it's messy and fun and Richie likes it very much. He doesn't take any time to think about waht he's doing, he just listens to music and sings badly and runshis fingers through his hair, leaving long streaks of color in the messy curls. It feels like time has stopped, he doesn't know for how long he's at it, but the sun is sitting lower in the sky and he's getting hungry. He won't stop until he's done with it, though. That's just how Richie is.

And when he finally takes a step back, hours later, he finds Eddie staring back at him, painted in all the warmest colors, and it's really _them,_ he thinks, because it's Eddie as he sees him, it's Eddie with love, and it's messy, there are spots of paint splattered here and there, but it's as real as it can be. There's still something missing, though, something soft and pure, and when he finally gets his idea, Richie runs to the store, not even bothering to change.

He buys flowers made of delicate fabric, dozens of them, and the cashier gives him an odd look as he pays but he doesn't care.

He takes Mike's glue gun and adds his final touch.

Eddie is now wearing a flower crown.

He smiles.

Weaves a crown for himself to wear as well.

He gets back home while Eddie is at his skating practice, sets his painting on his desk so it's the first thing people see when they open his bedroom's door, jumps in the shower then and waits, heart light and happy.

He falls asleep after a short while.

He wakes up to someone shaking him violently, and opens his eyes to see Eddie above him, Eddie with an undefinable, intense look on his face.

“Did you do this?” he asks, and for a moment Richie doesn't understand what the fuck he's talking about.

“Did I do what?”

“The painting, you fucking clown! Is that you? Did you do it?”

And for a moment his heart breaks and his face falls, because this is definitely not the reaction he was hoping for, far from it, he went too far, shouldn't have done that, it's too intense, it's too much, and Eddie hates him for it.

His heart breaks until Eddie's features soften, melting into something so soft and so loving he looses himself in it.

“This is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my fucking life. Rich, it's so beautiful, I swear, I don't even have the words to explain, and I just- I just-”

He stops himself in his tracks to kiss Richie deeply, and Richie answers without any hesitation, yanking him on the bed with him. Eddie moans against his lips, needy, as he grinds his hips down on Richie's. He kisses him like his life depends on it, and it's so ridiculously _good_ Richie thinks he might pass out.

“Wow, if I'd known painting you something made you that horny I would've done it a long time ago”, he says between two kisses, and Eddie groans, diving back on his mouth to shut him up.

Eddie feels so warm against him, his mouth demanding as he bites Richie's lower lip. Richie's breath hitches, it'slike Eddie could do anything and it would still turn him on, and frankly, he's very much okay with that. They pant in each other's mouth, the kiss is so intense, so much, but none of them want to take a break to breathe. Richie can feel that Eddie's erection, pressing hard into his thigh, and just the thought of seeing it is enough to make him moan in Eddie's mouth.

“Rich, I swear to god, it's ridiculous how much I want you”, he whispers, his breath hot on Richie's jaw.

“Oh, shit, is that not a gun in your pocket?”

Eddie rolls his eyes so hard Richie fears he mightget stuck like that.

“I swear to fucking god, you are _such_ an idiot”, he mutters, but there's the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Maybe, but I'm a very hot idiot that turns you on like no other!”

Richie loves having Eddie's body over him, pushing him against the matress, heavy and hot and firm. He loves the way it moves, synchronizes its movements with his, he loves how soft Eddie's skin is under his fingers when he takes off his shirt, the fine hair on his chest, the noises he muffles in his throat. His shoulders are broad and his stomach his toned and Richie sits up slightly to kiss his collarbone, lets his fingers trail on the golden skin. He loves the noise Eddie makes when he brushes a thumb over his nipple, a mix between a moan and a yelp.

He also loves the way Eddie takes control after that, nibbling on his ear, sucking spots on the pale skin at the base of his neck, where they're barely hidden by his sweaters, he loves the way he talks, with his voice deeper and his eyes darker.

“I wanna make you feel good”, Eddie says against his jaw, his hars dick pressing on Richie's through their clothes. “Can I suck you off?” he asks, and Richie gasps.

It's like he loses the capacity to talk for a short while.

“Fuck, Eds, want that so bad”, he whimpers, trying to collect himself a bit, just so he can articulate the words he needs, “B-but I wanna keep my pants on, I just-”

“Sure, Rich. Anything you want.”

Eddie doesn't even ask questions, and Richie wonders for how long he'll put up with that until he can't take it anymore. It's bound to happen, Eddie will tun out of patience, one day, and everything is gonna crash and burn, but for now, Richie takes it. He shuts his eyes as he feels his boyfriend's hands fiddling with his pants until they're unbuttoned and the fly is down. He shivers slightly as Eddie slides them off his hips a little, enough so he has access to his cock and they're both comfortable, but not enough for him to see the scars that cover Richie's upper thighs.

Richie had make out sessions in bathrooms, somwehere at parties with some guys he didn't know, but nothing more, really, and never anything like what is happening at the moment. Maybe it's the fact that it's Eddie, maybe that's what makes it more intense. He lets out a sharp breath as Eddie's tongue slides on his hip to the base of his cock, tries to keep it together, but it seems like Eddie has other plans, and Richie can't resist them.

He opens an eye only to close it right away, the scene is too much, and he takes a deep inhale as he looks down again.

It's like every wet dream he's ever had. Eddie, half-naked and face flushed with heat, his wide brown eyes staring right back at him as he places a light kiss on the tip of his dick.

“Do you want this?”

“ _Fuck,_ yes I want this, there's literaly nothing I want more than that right now Eds”, Richie moans, but it gets stuck in his throat when he feels the warm wetness of Eddie's mouth around him.

Obviously Eddie has some kind of experience on that level because there's no way this is his first time sucking dick. He's way to good at it.

“Eddie your mouth feels so good on me I swear I never want you to stop please don't st-oh, _fuck_ ” Richie mumbles, trying his best to make sense as he's loosing his mind.

He covers his face with his hands, way too embarrassed by his reactions to look down at Eddie again. His cheeks are burning up, his whole body is burning up, really, but in a good way, and he stifles a moan behind his teeth.

He wonders for a moment just how many times has Eddie done this before. The way he sucks on his dick, wraps his tongue around it swiftly, every movement flowing in the other almost feels professional, and there's something about it that drives Richie right to the edge. He's about to lose it way, way too early for his ego. Still, though, Eddie doesn't slow down when Richie begs him to, in fact it makes him go harder at it, and he only takes a quick break to talk, voice raspy and deep.

“Don't hold back baby, I want you to come for me, want to feel you in my mouth, can you do that for me Rich? Can you come for me?”

He called him fucking _baby_ and how is that so hot, really? Richie loves pet names but he's never thought he'd be on the receiving end of it someday. As it turns, out, it really does it for him.

He notices in that moment that Eddie's touching himself with his free hand, and that's the detail that finally drives him over the edge, back arching, eyes rolled back in his skull, both his hands on his mouth to catch the loud moan that escapes him as he spills into Eddie's mouth.

When Eddie finally comes back up to face him, his eyes are dark and he smiles. He brings one hand to Richie's face, and with his fingers slowly forces him to open his mouth wider. Richie obliges, still high from his orgasm, without detaching his gaze from his boyfriend's. He can't hold back a whimper, though, when he feels something warm dripping in his mouth, and realizes at the taste that it's his _cum,_ and somehow the idea of tasting himself like that is so fucking hot he feels his dick twitch once more, and he melts into the kiss Eddie gives him, circles his legs around him to bring him closer, hands clasped on both side of his face, needy and demanding and so fucking turned on still that it hurt.

Eddie has his orgasm a few seconds later, collapsing down on Richie, unable to hold himself up anymore, crying his name in his neck.

Time stops for a moment. They both stay in that position, catching their breath, brain still dizzy, until Eddie's arm starts to cramp up and he has to move. He cleans himself with an old t-shirt that's lying around, most of the mess in his right hand, and then turns back to Richie, who's changed position but still has his pants undone, to pull his boxers back up, along with his jeans. He does all of it gently, a soft smile on his face, his eyes shiny, and pushes Richie a bit so he can lie down next to him.

Richie, for once, just looks. Takes the moment to really _see_ Eddie, to just drink all he can get of him, and he feels so dazed, so happy he feels he's floating, and it shocks him just how intense all of this is, just how much he likes him.

He's spend most of his life closeted, incapable of standing tall and telling off everybody, so Eddie really is his first boyfriend, and Richie wonders if it's normal for a person to feel so much so early in a relationship, but then again, that's just how he is, wild and passionate and so full of love his heart threatens to burst everyday.

“I like you so much”, he finally whispers, unable to stop the words from getting out anymore, “That was so fucking hot and I like you so much.”

He can feel his cheeks burning, probably quite similar to Eddie's at the moment, a deep, warm pink, as he shifts on the bed to kiss him lightly.

“I like you a lot too”, he whispers back, and they both just smile like the two lovesick idiots they are, until Richie's stomach makes itself known. “I think maybe we should eat”, he adds, brushing a strand of hair off Richie's face.

“Yeah, we should. I'm dying over here.”

*

They eat dinner with Richie's parents, Liam still out somewhere, and if they heard anything that was happening downstairs, they don't say a word about it. Instead, Maggie proposes to help Eddie with the paperwork for his mother, and to come with him at the hospital so he's not alone next time he goes. And it makes Richie love her very much.

His mother is the complete opposite of Eddie's. She's a soft-spoken woman with kind eyes and a warm smile, the kind of mom that will open her arms for just about anybody, always ready to help, always ready to love. She has it in her.

Liam gets home about halfway through dinner, looking a bit dishelved, hair still caught in the wind, but a huge grin on his face.

“I have a girlfriend”, he declares as he steps into the kitchen with his arms open. He does a quick dance, much to Richie's amusement, before settling at the table. “I have a girlfriend and her name is Alex and she's awesome. I invited her over for the weekend. Figured you wouldn't mind.”

“Of course not, honey, I'm happy you found someone. We can't wait to meet her”, Maggie says with a smile.

“Ugh, I mind. Don't want to have to watch you make out in my living area”, Richie declares, grimacing. “Yucky.”

“Fuck off Rich, I watch you and Eddie make out constantly.”

“Wow. Pervert.”

Liam makes a show of rolling is eyes, sighing loudly while Richie grins to himself, obviously proud of his joke. Eddie hides his smile in his glass of water.

“I swear, you make it so hard to be your brother sometimes... You better behave, asshole.”

“Yeah, yeah, I'll try.”

Things are better ever since they talked a few days ago. They're both a bit more open with each other, and their jokes aren't as harsh, nor as mean as they once were. And Richie, he has to admit he's happy about it. He spent his whole teenage years convinced his brother and him would never have anything in common, would never be able to talk like this, and yet here they are, years later, trying to build something back up together.

And Richie, really, he's happy Liam has found someone he loves.

That night, when they get back in the bedroom, Eddie spends a while looking at Richie's painting.

“The colors”, he says after a few minutes of observing, “why did you chose these colors?”

“It's your palette. They're what I see when I look at you. Red, yellow and everything in between. Warm and blinding, like a sunrise.”

“Do you have a palette for yourself too, then?”

“Of course, Eds. Everything has a color. People, words, emotions... I don't know. That's how the world works. I'm pink.”

Eddie sounds surprised. “Pink?”

“Yeah, you don't see it?”

Richie sounds legetimately surprised, eyebrows raised, looks at Eddie with a curious expression on his face.

“No, Rich. Associating colors to things like that, it's a condition. Very few people have it”, and then, seeing as Richie doesn't seem to understand, much more, he continues. “It's called synesthesia. Nobody ever told you about that?”

“No. I always figured it was the same for everybody, never bothered to ask.”

He shrugs, and it makes Eddie smiles, how carefree he is. But it's true; he always assumed his way of seeing things was natural, and that people just didn't talk about it much. It makes him sad, though, knowing Eddie can't see him in that way, because he knows how incredible it can be when colors are bursting out of people, and he wishes he could share that.

He kind of did, though, with his painting.

“Do you have skates?” Eddie asks suddenly, and Richie tries to remember if he's got some hidden somewhere.

“I think Liam has some but me, I don't think so. I don't even know if I learned how to skate at some point in my life. Was never big on sports, as you can see”, he says as he points his body, showing off his lack of muscles.

He laughs, but Eddie scowls at him, obviously not liking his self-depreciating joke.

“You shouldn't make these kind of jokes. Having huge pipes is not a pre-requisite to be a man, you know that, right? You need to love yourself more.”

“All right, Mr killjoy”, Richie holds up his hands, smirking. “I have an amazingly hot, lean body.”

“That's better”, Eddie winks. “You think you could borrow your brother's skates tonight? There's an outside rink near here.”

It's beautiful outside, cold, still, but not the harsh kind of cold that feels like thousands of tiny cuts on your face. It's softer, big, fluffy snowflakes slowly falling down on the ground. They've had lots of snow, this year, and apparentely they'll still get more until april. Everyone is grumpy about it, but Richie doesn't mind, he loves the snow. It's pretty and kinda magical and it sorts of glows in the night, under the street lights. The winter also makes it less weird for him to wear long sleeves.

Eddie has forced him to put on a scarf and a beanie to stay somewhat warm, and when they went by his house so he could pick up his “leisure skates” or whatever that means, he even got him a pair of gloves. They come and go as quickly as possible, and Eddie nearly runs down the street so he doesn't see it anymore.

The rink is completely empty when they get there, which is not surprising considering it's near midnight. Next to Richie, Eddie is a bubbly ball of happinness, all smiles and laughs and soft kisses on his cheeks. He seems so excited to share that part of his life with Richie, and Richie can't help but feel excited too, even though he fears he might break a bone or something. He doesn't say anything about it, though, since he doesn't want to make Eddie anxious.

Richie holds his hand as they step on the ice, falls on his ass about two and a half seconds after. Yes, he's very athletic.

“Dude, you're supposed to glide, not fucking stomp on it!” Eddie wheezes as he helps him get back up.

“Why didn't you say so _before_ I stomped, you asshole?”

“I thought that was like, common knowledge!” He defends himself, still laughing.

“Eds, you're talking to a guy that stole everything he's wearing right now in his brother's closet! I don't even own a scarf! I'm clueless!”

“Yeah, I know that now. Now, come on. It's just like walking, one foot in front of the other, except you don't lift your front heel from the ground as much and also you gotta lean foward a little to keep you balance and also your back foot should be at a slight angle just so you're not on like, total parrallel tracks.”

“So, in fact, very different from walking.”

“Yeah, okay, I guess it is.”

Eddie keeps teaching him even though he whines through all of it, and in the end he ends up being pretty good for a beginner. He tries to show off by doing a little spin but stumbles and looses balance, ends up on his stomach instead, while Eddie skates backwards and does a spin himself to rub it in, a huge grin plastered on his face.

Richie ends up trying to chase him around the small rink, but even without the proper skates, Eddie is a whole lot faster than him, and in the end he's the one getting chased on.

He feels light, really, when Eddie takes his hands and twirls them around, and even lighter when they take a break to kiss, slow and hot and everything he wants. When they're together everything feels so good and life is so easy it feels unreal. Now, Richie's always been a romantic at heart, but somehow he never thought that he could find himself in that kind of relationship one day, just hoped, trying to ignore the voices in the back of his mind repeating him it was not meant to be.

Being with Eddie, though, it certainly feels meant to be. Maybe they knew each other in a past life, he thinks as they break their kiss a minute to breathe, maybe they're soulmates, or something, and Richie feels so full of _love_ he thinks he might explode. He tries not to show it too much, not to be too intense as he doesn't want to scare Eddie away, even though he feels somewhere deep inside that it wouldn't. The words are always just on the tip of his tongue, begging to get out, but he just swallows them back, it's not time yet, it's still too soon, so he just says _i like you so so much_ and hope it does the trick for now.

It makes his knees weak when Eddie tells him he likes him back.

They keep kissing for what feels like hours but isn't really more than a few minutes, until they're both shivering from lack of movement, and decide it's time to go back home. When they pass in front of Eddie's house, he keeps looking at the sidewalk, and tightens his grip around Richie's hand.

They get back inside quietly, making sure not to wake anybody up, and quickly go downstairs, cheeks and nose still red from the cold outside. Richie insists Eddie goes in the shower first, and while he's alone in his bedroom, he just lies down on his bed and _beams._ He thinks about his teenage years, when he thought he could never feel this happy, when he was sure he'd never have any other friend than Bill, and now his heart feels so full. He thinks of Mike and Ben and how lucky he is to have met them, he thinks of Bill whom he loves with all his heart, of Georgie who's like his cosmic little brother, and he thinks of his own brother too, and maybe their relationship wasn't meant to fall apart after all, maybe it's true that twins share a more profound bond than regular brothers and sisters, because he still loves him, in fact he feels closer to him than ever, and he's pretty sure it's one of the best things in the world, having these thoughts.

And then he thinks of all those years he spent closeted, hidden from everyone because he didn't want to attract any more attention to him than there already was, of all those nights he cried himself to sleep, terrified of being himself, of all those times he wanted to stand up for himself and ended up staying silent instead, how unnatural that felt, because Richie _loves_ talking, even if it gets him in trouble.

He thinks of all those times he wanted to die, and how now, he doesn't feel like disappearing as much.

He's still thinking when Eddie comes back to the bedroom, and he's still thinkng when they get under the covers together, sharing soft kisses and shy touches.

Maybe there are some things that can make life worth living, after all.

*

“I'm in love.”

It's the first thing he says tho his therapist when he walks into her office that day. His mother is at the hospital with Eddie, helping him with the legal procedures surrounding his own mom, and his father just dropped him here while he goes grocery shopping for an hour.

“That's amazing, Richard”, she says as he sits. She gets his file and her notes out, puts them on the table next to her and leans back in her chair. “I figured there was something happening with you that you weren't telling me about, I'm happy you're ready to open up about it now. Wanna tell me more?”

“Fuck yes. His name is Eddie and we've been together a few weeks now and he's the best thing that ever happened to me and I'm mad in love with him.”

“Alright, that sounds good. You seem well today. Why don't you tell me how it all started?”

Richie speaks. He loves seeing his therapist because it's just him speaking whatever goes through his mind non-stop and she's litterally paid to listen to him. Sometimes she'll ask questions, direct him in another way, but she always listen, takes notes, and answer to his existential questions. Also her office always smells like apple pie and he hair is blonde and very mesmerizing to watch. Richie likes her very much.

He ends up mentioning his scars, how scared he is to show them, when she puts down her notepad and takes a break to look at him in the eyes.

“Let's talk about those scars. Why are you scared? He knows about your situation, doesn't he?”

“I mean, yeah, he knows, but I haven't told him everything yet, like the self-harm and all that shit... I didn't even tell him how I tried to kill myself. He just... he knows the outline.”

“Why didn't you tell him all that, then?” She probes, looking for something deeper.

Richie takes a deep breath; it's those moments he likes the less during his visits. The ones where he actually has to face his problems. It's part of his recovery, though, so he has to do it. He closes his eyes for a second, trying to focus on his emotions like she taught him to, trying not to deflect by joking.

“Because I hate all of that. It's an ugly part of me”, He lets out finally. “And I don't want him to get scared because he realizes how fucked up I really am. What if he runs away? What do I do then?”

“Richard, that is your anxiety talking. It's normal to be scared, it's a big step for you to make, but thinking about what could happen won't lead you anywhere. In fact, it'll just make you go backwards. Now I don't know a whole lot about this Eddie, but I'm pretty sure he's expecting some kind of scars. Why else would you hide your arms under a sweater all the time, then? And he's still there. You opened yourself to him and he's still there. I'm fairly certain a couple scars won't scare him away. They're part of you. If he loves you, he'll love them.”

“He won't _love_ them. He'll like... accept their existence, I guess. But he can't love something that's so inherently negative.”

“Why are they inherently negative in your eyes?”

“...Because they're self-harm scars? They're litterally there because I hate myself? There's nothing positive about that.”

“You know scars are the result of wounds that healed, right? Those scars that you have on your body were once open, bleeding wounds in your skin. It's your cells that regenerated, created new skin tissue so you could heal. They are a proof that you _healed,_ Richard, and if that's not positive, I don't know what is. You're alive because of those scars. They are what make you, you. They are what make you the strong, sensible young adult you thought you'd never be. I think it's better to be happy and have a marked body than to be miserable and have perfect skin, don't you?”

Richie takes a while before answering, considers what she just said, inconscientely putting a hand on his forearm. Thinking of himself as “strong” still feel weird. He doesn't feel strong. He still struggles sometimes, he still cries a lot, he still has trouble containing himself. He survived because his brother came home early and called an ambulance; it's not like he walked to the hospital himself. Where he is now, he owes it all to other people; doctors, his family, therapists, his friends. That's not strenght.

“I mean... I still see it as a proof of how weak I've been. It's hard looking at them any other way.”

“I know. I know it's hard, but you have to try. That's what therapy is all about: try things until you feel better about yourself. I'll give you homework, this week.” She fumbles in her filing cabinet, gets out a document for him. “I want you to write five different things you love about yourself everyday. They can be physical, psychological, or even temporary, I don't mind. Everyday, you write them down, and you say them out loud to yourself. Then next week you'll bring it back and we'll look at it together. It's not that hard, isn't it?”

Five things. He should be able to do that.

When his father picks him up, Richie doesn't feel as bad about himself as he sometimes does. It's like he hates himself a little bit less, these days.

Wentworth looks at him from the corner of his eyes with a half-smile. He loves seeing his son bright.

“When did you tell mom you loved her first?” Richie asks after a while, the question burning his lips. Maybe if he gets an idea of the 'normal' amount of time one has to wait before saying those three big words, he'll know if he can say it to Eddie yet.

“Oh, I think it was after our second date”, Wentworth answers with a chuckle. “We got back from the movies and I walked her back home, and I couldn't hold it anymore. I said 'I love you and I know it's early but I just had to say it' and she laughed. I've always been eager.”

“What the fuck, dad, after your _second date_?” Richie gasps, too shocked to add anything else. His father is definitely a lot more fearless than him.

“I know, I know! We weren't even officially together yet. But I had to let it out, you know, my heart was bursting with love for her. I knew she was the one, and I figured, why wait? And even if it took a while before she said it back, it just felt good. I'd tell her every few minutes. I was head over heels for her! I didn't push it, though, I wanted her to wait until she was ready to answer back. 'I love you's are a big thing, you don't want to force people into saying it. But that doesn't mean you should wait before saying it yourself. If you're ready, then go. It's the best feeling.” He takes a break, eyes on the road, though a little bit dreamy, and once they're at a red light, he turns to him, pumps his eyebrows exaggerately. “So you love Eddie, uh?”

“ _Dad!_ I didn't even say that!” Richie exclaims, but he can feel the heat in his cheeks taking all of his credibility.

“Why else would you ask me that question, then?”

“I was just curious, that's all.”

“...Right. Curious.” He smiles to himself, and then mumbles, loudly enough Richie hears it: “Subtle...”

Richie loves his father with all his heart.

Richie also hates his father with all his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there, there. it felt good writing all that fluff. i love these boys so much <3
> 
> thank you for reading, as always, hope you liked it! <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 7 already, it goes by so fast!   
> so i know at the beginning i said this story was finished but i re-read the last few chapters and i'm not completely satisfied so i'll probably add some more to it. good news, right? also i love my boys too much and i don't want o let them go just yet <3 
> 
> there arent much trigger warnings that apply to this chapter!
> 
> tw for explicit sexual content  
> tw for mentions of psychological abuse  
> tw for past toxic family relationships

Eddie misses a few days of school after his mother's accident. Stanley and Beverly keep texting him, but he doesn't have the courage to answer, to tell them what's wrong, to tell them the world is collapsing on him. He just says he feels sick, and spends all of his time in Richie's bed.

It's Maggie that forces him to get up, finally. She hugs him, tells him he can't live like that, that it's not sane behaviour, that he has to take care of himself. She calls his friends, asks them to come over. Eddie doesn't complain.

Stan is the first one to get there, completely panicked. Eddie can hear him talk to Richie's mom outside the bedroom, voice choked, saying something about how he's sure he forgot to lock his door, how he has to go back to check but doesn't want to leave Eddie alone, and Maggie tries her best to comfort him, helpless, until Stan calls Beverly and asks her to stop by his place on her way, make sure to test the lock seven times before leaving and record it so he can calm down.

Eddie hasn't seen Stanley so stressed out in years. It's like they're thirteen all over again and his friend is having a panic attack because he can't lace his shoes the exact way he wants to. When Stan runs in the bedroom, his hair is wild and he's still panting from his run over.

There's this weird thing that happens sometimes when people are facing situations in which they have to handle other's anxiety. It's like their own stress somehow fades out for a while, to be replaced by some sort of collected calm, kind of like a mother's instinct, the way she reassures her child even when she knows there's something wrong.

When Stanley takes him in his arms, rambling unintelligible words, Eddie knows what he has to do.

“Eddie, fuck, why didn't you tell us? Wait no I don't want you to feel guilty I just I wish we could have been there for you from the beginning because this is horrible Eddie how are you feeling are you holding up-” He rambles, tries to catch his breath, until Eddie sits straighter, eyes filled with tears, and takes his face between his hands.

“Stan, hey, come back to me. Stan I love you. I'm so sorry I didn't tell you. But you have to calm down. Please. Just breathe on my count, okay?”

Stan nods and does as he's told, and Eddie holds back his tears until his friend comes back to his usual self, until he feels safe enough to break down in front of him, until he knows Stan is in control. And then it hits him, everything that's happened in the past week, it hits him just how much he needs his friends right now. A couple dry sobs force their way up his throat, and then it gets too much, there's nothing he can keep in anymore, and Eddie's whole body floods.

Stanley holds him through it, helps him keep his head above water level, makes sure he doesn't drown.

Eddie feels Beverly join the hug before he actually sees her, his face still hidden in Stanley's neck. She sits behind him, circles his waist with her arms, places a couple kisses on his shoulderblades. She's holding on to him so tight Eddie can barely breathe, but he won't say a thing about it. It reminds him she's there.

They stay like this for a long time, Eddie sandwiched between his two friends, until his tears start drying on his cheeks, leaving long streaks of salt behind. All eyes are closed and everyone is breathing softly, it's like they're all asleep, when in fact they are just focusing all of their energy in patching the bleeding wounds in Eddie's soul. Under them, the floor stops crumbling.

“It was a car accident”, Eddie whispers after a long silence. “The doctors told me there was no way of knowing when she'll wake up. And I just... I don't know how to feel. This still feels unreal.”

“You're still in shock, Eddie, it's normal. But we're here, now. And you have Richie. You're not alone.”

They lie down on the bed, all three of them with Eddie in the middle.

Beverly takes his hand.

“I'm so sorry this is happening to you. But you're strong. I know you'll get through it.”

Stan nods at Bev's words.

“I still haven't gone back to see her, you know. I know I should but I don't think I have the strength to face her like this again. Fuck, this is a nightmare.”

“Hey. We were there when you stood up to her for the first time, weren't we? We'll be there to. It's gonna be just like old times.”

Eddie chuckles at the memory, not because it is funny in itself, but Stanley has this way of talking that's so serious and yet so playful. Even the worst situations don't feel so bad when he talks about them.

Eddie decides it's now or never. He can do this if he's got them next to him. He doesn't even have to stay for long.

Maggie gives them a ride to the hospital, asks Eddie if he wants her to come inside as well. He loves how thoughtful she is, how _motherly._ He thinks he might love her more than his own mother. Sonia would never do this for anybody. Sonia doesn't care about others.

Doctors tell him information he doesn't register, but Maggie is there, listening to them, asking questions, taking the documents they hand her. When they get in front of the room, Eddie stops in his tracks, suddenly unsure of what to do.

He can see her in the bed, eyes closed, plugged to countless machines. The faint beeps of her heart beating are the only sound that seem to break the silence in the room. He feels Stanley's hand in his, then Beverly takes the other. It takes him years back.

When he learned his sickness was bullshit, Eddie was fourteen.

Beverly had just disovered that at their age, they didn't need to go to the doctor's with their parents anymore, that they could ask for confidentiality and that doctors and pharmacists could refuse to give anyone any information about their health. Eddie wasn't the only one that lived with an overbearing parent, and they had promised each other, years ago, that they would always be there for one another. It was only natural for Eddie to go with Bev to her first doctor's appointment without her father, and while he sat in the waiting room, detailing everything that was surrounding him, the child that was coughing without covering his mouth, the woman that was wearing a paper mask, the other woman that had a green tone to her skin, Eddie decided it was time for him to book an appointment as well.

It felt weird, not telling his mom about it, having to write a fake note so he could skip last period of class, taking the bus alone to the clinic. He never went there before.

Beverly held his hand in the bus.

The doctor he met was a tall man, about fourty years old, with thick grey hair and a port wine stain that covered the lower left part of his face down to his neck. He had a stern look but kind eyes, and he didn't ask Eddie why he was alone. Instead he asked him question about his health, and raised a suspicious eyebrow when Eddie listed every condition his mother had told him he had.

“Now that seems like a lot, Edward, and from what I'm seeing, you look like healthy young man. Let's take a look at that, shall we?”

He made him sit on the examination table, asked him breathe deeply while he held a stetoscope in his back, on his chest. Touched his neck, looked in his ears, in his throat. Ran a bunch of basic tests. Weighed and measured him. Kept asking a bunch of questions.

“Tell me about your asthma”, he said after a while. “What are your symptoms?”

“I run out of breath easy. Like when I panic it's like I forget how to breathe and then I hyperventilate and it feels like I'm gonna die.”

“So would you say your asthma attacks only ever appear when you're in a moment of stress?”

Eddie stayed in the office for a long time, sitting on the other side of the doctor's desk while he took note of each of his answers, making weird looks and raising brows. It's more than a half hour later that the doctor finally spoke, his voice serious but soft.

“I'm going to request a blood test for you, Edward, just in case, but from what I've seen and heard today, it seems to me that the only medical condition you have is anxiety. What you think are asthma attacks are in fact panic attacks, and taking doses of your inhaler doesn't help for those. It certainly has a placebo effect, but it actually fastens your cardiac rythym, putting your body under even more stress. I also looked into your medical file on our internet portal, and you have no over-the-counter medication under your name, except for the inhaler. Next time you come I'd like for you to bring some of the pills you take on the daily, so we can take a look at exactly what you are putting in your body. For now, though, I suggest you don't stop taking them, as I don't want to take any risk.”

They scheduled another appointment for two weeks later so they could look at the results of the blood tests. When Eddie left the office, everything felt unreal. He repeated the exact words the doctor had told him to Beverly. _You don't have any health issue. You have anxiety. The medication you are taking serves no true purpose._

He cried on the bus ride home. Cried everyday when he swallows his pills, resisting the urge to puke them up as soon as they got down his throat. Cried for two whole weeks, because there's nothing else to do when you're fourteen and you've just discovered that your life is just an elaborate lie.

He went to his second appointment alone, bounced his leg nervously as he sat behind the doctor's desk again, waiting for him to talk. He'd brought his pills, every one of them, displayed in front of him. A woman entered the room.

“You wanted to see me, Dr. Tremblay?” She asked, standing awkwardly in the doorframe.

“Yes, Elizabeth, please come in. Edward, this is Elizabeth, she is our pharmacist here, at the clinic.” He turned back to the woman, smiled. “My dear, I am in need of your expertise here. Have you ever seen any of those pills?”

She walked to the desk, took a look in every plastic bottle. Smelled some of them, even.

“Now, those are definitely multivitamins”, she declared, gesturing at some bottles. “You can tell by the awful vitamin B smell. I think it's the Jamieson brand, though I'd have to check to be sure. These capsules here look like probiotics but I can't be sure, these are iron supplements and these are antiacids.”

“So, really, nothing a healthy teenager should need to take on a daily basis.”

“Oh, no. It's unnecessary, most of it isn't absorbed by the body anyways; it's all evacuated in urine.”

“Thank you very much for your help, Elizabeth. I'll call you if I need anything else.”

When she closed the door behind her, Eddie hid his face behind his hands, somehow ashamed of the situation, of himself, tried desperately to hold back his tears. The room stayed silent for a few minutes, until he dared look up again, and the doctor was looking at him with a sad look in his eyes.

“This is a lot to take for you, I know. But Edward, you are not sick. Your blood tests came back pristine. All these supplements, it's nothing good eating habits can't give you. I know it's not my place to say, but I suggest you have a serious conversation with your mother.”

His world crumbled.

A scream died on its way up his throat.

Around him everything looked blurry, kind of like if he was in a haze, or a dream, like anything he touched could disappear.

When he got back to his friends, Eddie finally let out his scream. They held his hands through it, held his hands as he walked to his house, held his hands as he yelled at his mother, with all the strength he could gather, that she was a fucking liar, they held his hands as he made her cry, broke her beyond repair, they held his hands until he had no voice to scream with anymore.

Now they're still here, and they hold his hands as he tries to gather the willpower to confront her one more time, perhaps the last, and they don't let go as he walks into the room.

They stand besides her bed, holding on so tight to each other their knuckles whiten, tears filling up their eyes.

“Mom.”

Naturally, she doesn't respond. Her heartbeat stays the same. Eddie wonders if she can hear. He read somewhere that people that were in a coma could still hear others talking to them. He's not sure if he wants it to be true or not.

“I'm sorry you're hurt. The doctors told me your coma was more serious than a few days ago. I'm sorry. But I'm not sorry I don't hear your voice anymore, and I'm not sorry you can't answer right now. Maybe you'll listen to me now that you have nothing better to do. It's probably hard speaking with a plastic tube down your throat.”

He pauses, takes a deep breath.

“All my life you've raised me to become the weak, fragile son you wanted to have so badly. Even, when you knew I learned about the truth, you still tried. Can't say you're not perseverant. You messed me up pretty bad, mom, do you know that? You messed me up so bad I actually became sick. Sick in the head. I know it's not what you wanted, but it's still better than nothing, right? You got what you wanted, in the end. You raised me to be scared, and I grew up terrified of everything. What kind of fucking life is that? How can you say you love me but still do that to me? And all these years I believed you and you lied to me, you fucking lied. And I thought parents were supposed to lie about Santa Clause or about what happens to dogs when they die. I was treated like a freak because of you. You made me that way. When I came back home with a black eye because I got punched in the face, it was because of you. When I was pushed down the stairs at school and broke my arm it was because of you. When I opened my forehead on a fucking toilet bowl it was because of you.”

Eddie shivers as the memories come back to him. All those times when he was bullied as a kid because he carried medication and a first aid kit in his damn fanny pack like a little fucking _freak,_ all those times he was beaten up and didn't do anything because he was afraid he'd crack a knuckle or something, all these times he didn't stand up for himself because of how scared he was.

“You never let me become _me._ You shaped me into whatever kind of fucking puppet you wanted, you

made me think I couldn't live without you, you made me think _you_ were my identity. And I believed you, I fucking did, because I was a child and you were my mom and you were supposed to look out for me. You were supposed to give me strength, to give me courage, but all you ever gave me was fake diseases and anxiety. So thanks for the gifts, really. You broke me, you fucking shattered me and you never let me try and pick up the pieces. What kind of a parent cares so little and so much at the same time? Because you did care, didn't you? You cared so much you locked me up in the house, confined me between four fucking walls so I couldn't get out of your grip. You cared so much you forbid me from doing things I liked, just in case I developped my own free will. You cared so much you didn't want me to have friends, because what if they took me away from you?”

Eddie can feel all his body burning like he's on fire, magma coursing in his veins, smoke coming out of his throat. His voice is raspy, he can hear it, it's like it's someone else talking, not him, not Eddie-bear, but someone else, some other Eddie Kaspbrak that's just now coming to life, and Stanley, Beverly and Maggie Tozier get to assist to his birth, first row, get to hear him finally _breathe._

“I guess all I wanna say is that I don't think I care what happens to _you._ Wake up, stay in coma forever, die in a few days... I won't come back to see you. I can't keep pretending anymore. I can't keep trying to convince myself I love you. I'm twenty-one. I think it's time I finally live. I think it's time I find my peace, and I know for a fact it's nowhere near you.”

His throat feels tight as he says the last words. As freeing as it is, it still feels so wrong to be saying such things to his mother, the woman who gave birth to him, who raised him. It feels so wrong and yet as soon as the words escape him, Eddie breathes.

The tears that are prickling at the corner of his eyes finally stream down his cheeks, a steady flood, uninterrupted by sobs. It's the build-up of all these years trying not to cry, it's everything he's accumulated inside, it's a weird mix between pain and relief, it feels so liberating to let go.

At his sides, his friends are silent, but they're crying too. This is the end of an era. This is what they'd wished for Eddie since they met him, for him to finally take a stand and spread his wings. It's like every single thing they went through together was preparing them for this moment, when at twenty-one years old they assist to the crash and burn of a toxic mother and son relationship.

Maggie doesn't say a word when they leave the room and Eddie's mom behind. She looks at them with her soft blue eyes, walks them back to the car. Drives Beverly and Stanley back to their place, makes a quick pit stop at Eddie's so he can take a few things with him.

It's only when they get back home that Eddie falls apart in her arms, completely helpless and terrified of what will come next. She holds him like a mother is supposed to, carresses his hair gently. She prepares him a cup of hot chocolate before sitting next to him in the living room. They're all alone in the house; Richie and Liam still at school, Wentworth still at work.

“Did I do the right thing?” Eddie finally asks in a whisper, his voice shaky, eyes glued to the last marshmallow still floating in his mug.

“Eddie, darling, you did what you felt was best for you. I know it's hard cutting ties with a parent, but you can't keep them in your life if they make you feel miserable. You're an adult, now, you can make your own choices. You have to believe in yourself and in your capacity to make a decision. Watching you in that hospital room, Eddie, it felt like watching a phoenix rise from its ashes. You have a fire that burns in you. You just have to learn how to listen to it.”

It feels strange hearing such things from a woman he doesn't know that much, yet he feels with Maggie Tozier some sort of connection he's never felt with his own mother, like she sees him, really sees him. She gets what he's about, and instead of trying to force him and hide, she pushes him off the branch so he can learn to fly.

Eddie thinks that's how all mothers should act. Next to Maggie Tozier, Eddie is a baby phoenix learning how to live alone.

Next to Maggie Tozier, Eddie is loved.

“If you want, we can go pick up your stuff tomorrow to bring it back here. Then we'll fill the paperwork for your address change and take care of the last things regarding your mother. You are not alone in this, Eddie, honey. I feel you need to hear it. We'll help you every step of the way.”

“But I don't-”

He doesn't get to finish his sentence, Maggie stops him with a sign of her hand.

“I know what you're about to say. You are not imposing yourself, okay? It's important that you know this.”

Eddie nods silently.

They put on a movie.

Maggie opens her arms so Eddie can snuggle next to her.

It's hard to think everything's gonna be okay, because not once in his life has everything actually been okay, but it's also comforting to know he has actual adults supporting him, adults who know what life is about, who know what they're doing. There's that little spark of hope that's growing inside of Eddie's chest, and maybe _that's_ what life is about.

Maybe it's about holding on to the good bits, keeping them safe and secure somewhere in our ribcage, until they fill us completely.

For the first time in twenty one years, Eddie feels ready to face the world.

*

The next friday, Eddie receives a text from his boyfriend telling him he'll come home a bit late because he has to finish a project at school. It still feels weird, being at the Tozier's place alone, but at the same time, it's like he's always been there.

_**Richie** _

_im so sorry baby :((_

_i miss u ill try to do it as fast as i can_

_text me to tell me if liams girlfriend is cool_

_if shes anything like the last bitch he brought home plz spit in her face for me_

He snorts when he reads the last text.

Though Richie has been making jokes about it ever since it happened, Eddie knows for a fact he was affected by the event. He remembers how stiff Richie went when Charlie started talking about him, he remembers how silent he was for the whole night after. Truth is, Eddie will gladly punch in the throat anyone who ever talks to Richie like that again..

Liam is the first one to come home. From the kitchen, Eddie can hear him talking loudly before he even sees him.

“So Rich will probably be super weird at first but I swear he's an acquired taste. I'm pretty sure you can handle him anyways. And Eddie is a really cool dude, you'll love him.”

He's probably not supposed to be hearing this, Eddie thinks, but he stays where he is nonetheless, and listens to Liam as he rambles about his family. There's something comforting about hearing all of this from Liam's mouth; he's usually so secretive, unlike Richie, and Eddie can never really tell what he's thinking.

When he enters the room, his smile his wide.

“Yo Eds! Good day?”

Following him is a tall, athletic girl with shiny eyes and sharp features. She's about Liam's height, long legs and straight, dark brown hair reaching her lower back. Eddie's first thought is _that girl is clearly a model,_ quickly followed by _she better be nice to Richie,_ and his own protectiveness startles him. He always knew he had it in him, but not to that point.

“So hey, I want you to meet Alex, she's my girlfriend. Alex, this is Eddie. My brother's lover.”

Clearly, twins share the same dumb brain cell. Just the one.

“What the fuck, do you really have to say it like this?”

“It rhymes! Of course I do!”

“Alright. Then I'm gonna start calling you Liam the ham.”

“It doesn't even rhyme that much. I can't accept it.”

“Okay, first of all, I had to come up with a word on the spot, second of all, fuck you. Alex, it's nice meeting you.”

They talk for a while,and as it turns out, Alex really is amazing, way too much for Liam, and Eddie and her become fast friends. They talk about overthrowing patriarchy and fighting capitalism, about the need for queer representation in pop culture, and they roast Liam.

It's a good talk.

Eddie's been living at the Tozier's place for a few days, now, and as strange as it sometimes feel, part of him feels like it was meant to be. He fits in that house. Wentworth calls him “son” and Maggie calls him “darling”. They ask him to peel the potatoes or cut the onions, include his name in the list of weekly tasks. For the first time, Eddie is treated like an adult, like a member of a family. Liam gives him rides to his skating practices when he's free, Maggie requests his help to open jars.

He also carries his prescription with him in his backpack wherever he goes, just in case he passes by a pharmacy and finally decides to bring it to the counter. It's bound to happen someday, he thinks, he'll make up his mind and accept the fact that this could actually help him. In the meantime, he shops for a psychologist in secret. He can at least try therapy. There's no one to mock him for it, now that he's in college. People don't care about that stuff anymore.

Richie is a big help through all of this. Behind his crude jokes and exhuberant personality he hides a soft, caring boy, one that would do anything for the people he loves. They try to push each other in the right direction, and as hard as it can be sometimes, it still works, and Eddie finally feels like some part of him is healing. Which part exactly, he doesn't know, but some of his wounds aren't open anymore, that he can tell.

He goes to the gym with Liam from time to time. It's actually pretty nice to have someone to train with. Richie is not one for sports, and Eddie can respect that. He's cut down on smoking a lot since Eddie moved in, and tries to have healthier eating habits. He now eats fruits or vegetables at every meal of the day. They are good together.

They always eat dinner as a family, the five of them, and that night, with Alex, Eddie really sees just how much Maggie and Wentworth Tozier love their sons. They keep glancing at them with that soft, proud look, obviously very happy they found people to love. Richie keeps telling embarrassing stories about his brother, delighted in the way he glares at him across the table, Alex chokes on her drink and spills it in her plate.

“There's a thing tonight at Mike's place”, Richie tells Eddie when they are finally alone. “I know you're not a fan of parties, but maybe we could just stop by for a few minutes? Just to say hi, and then we leave”, he adds, looking at his hands.

Eddie can tell he wants to go. Richie loves being surrounded with people, he loves drinking and dancing and yelling over loud music until he's exhausted. And even if Eddie hates all of those things, he feels guilty keeping them from his boyfriend. He knows Richie won't go if he doesn't, even if Eddie insists. So he nods, heart beating fast, hoping it won't be as bad as he thinks.

But when Richie beams and kisses his face and his neck while saying _thank you thank you thank you,_ the fear disappears. There's nothing better than seeing him happy.

They leave together not long after, holding hands, and Eddie tenses up slightly when they get there, remembering just how anxious these things make him.

The alchool, the dozens of people in small spaces, the noise and the heat and all of the possible things that could go wrong-

“Hey, Eds, everything okay?” Richie asks, a crease in his forehead. “Do you want to go back home?”

His voice is so soft and understanding Eddie feels like crying for a moment, because there's no way this is real, there's no way he's been lucky enough to find himself such a perfect boyfriend, there's no way Richie just _noticed_ his change of behaviour, the way he shivered and inhaled sharply. People don't see these things, or at least, they never did before.

As much as Eddie feels like turning around and never coming back here again, there's still a part of him that wants to be stronger than that, that wants to face his fears and just get it over with already. But that part is so small and his mother's voice is so loud in his head, her bitter tone hidden behind sickly sweet words.

_Eddie-bear, gatherings like that are dangerous, people do drugs and get drunk and violent, and you're so frail, you'll get hurt or end up with alchool poisoning and we'll have to spend the rest of the night at the hospital. Surely you don't want that, do you? I just want to protect you, Eddie-bear, I want you to be happy and I know these things will make you miserable. Stay with your mother, Eddie-bear. I know how to take care of you._

He tries to make her shut up, but the words still echo inside him, leaving him breathless and panicked, yet he still finds the strength to shake his head when Richie asks if he wants to leave, because he doesn't, or at least part of him doesn't, and he wants to listen to it. He tries to hear what this Eddie is telling him, voice so small and far away compared to his mother's, manages to catch a few words.

_You fucking strong step breathe in go_

It's enough for him.

His body starts moving again,

he gets in the house.

The music is so loud inside he can't even hear himself think, and maybe that's a good thing, maybe if he can't think he'll be less anxious about all of this. He follows Richie through the sea of people, still holding his hand, and Richie never lets go even for a second as they greet a bunch of people, classmates, friends of friends of friends. Eddie tries his best to look casual, even though he's not sure it's working that well. Mike hugs them both when he sees them.

“I'm so happy you came!” he screams over the music. “You wanna do shots?”

He's holding a bottle of tequila, and Richie turns to Eddie with a questioning look, and when Eddie smiles, tightening his grip on his hand, he gets back to Mike, grinning.

“Sure! Bring it on, Mikey baby!”

Tequila is the most digusting liquid that's ever been in Eddie's mouth, and he's swallowed sperm a bunch of times. It burns his throat as it gets down, tastes somewhat like rubbing alchool, but after three of them, he starts feeling pretty lightheaded already. Richie is smiling at him with his beautiful lips on his beautiful face and he looks at him with his beautiful eyes behind his beautiful glasses.

Eddie's pretty sure he's never been more beautiful than right now.

They kiss, hot and wet in the middle of the kitchen, Eddie leaning against the counter, Richie thrusting his hips on his. He doesn't even try to hold back any of the sounds he makes because he's pretty sure no one else can hear him anyways, so he moans in Richie's mouth as their tongues meet, his arms around his neck to bring him down to his height. They keep at it for a while, grinding on each other, until their lips separate with a loud _smack_ and they try to catch their breath, both panting like they just ran a marathon. Eddie can feel Richie's erection pressing on the bottom of his stomach.

“You're so hot”, he says in his ear, “Want you so much.”

Richie closes his eyes, visibly trying to restrain himself from doing anything stupid. When he opens them back, though, his irises appear then shades darker and his pupils are blown wide with desire. He takes his arm and guides him around the house until they enter what looks like Mike's bedroom, and Richie closes the door behind them.

There, the music is muffled a bit, sounds unreal. It's like they are in a different reality, where time is warped and sound is just a concept.

And soon their lips meet again in a pressing kiss, the kind that opens up the door to something else, and Eddie relishes in the sensation of Richie's warm hands on him. He slides them under his shirt, and then in his pants to grab his naked ass. Eddie whimpers at the touch, his knees giving up under him. They slide against the wall and to the floor, not bothering to stop their kissing.

Now Eddie is not lacking any experience when it comes to sex, but being like this with Richie, it makes him feel this tickling heat in his chest down to his stomach, makes his heart beat slightly faster, and it's like he's doing all of this for the first time again, minus the stress.

That alone makes it a thousand times better.

He inhales sharply when Richie bites his lower lip, and then his chin, his jaw, his neck. He sucks a spot just under his ear, leaves a trail of kisses down to his clavicle. Eddie is half lying on the floor and half leaning against the wall, and it's not the most comfortable position, really, it's a bit awkward even, and he shifts back up a little so he's actually sitting, or at least, sprawling.

“Eds I swear you will be the end of me I wanna make you feel good, fuck...”

Richie's voice sounds hot and raw, and it sends a shiver running down Eddie's spine. He's closed his eyes so he only feels Richie unbutton his pants, and the thought that someone could enter the room at any moment crosses his head for a second. It would definitely be embarrassing, being caught in the act like that, but somehow it adds to the thrill, and Eddie can almost _hear_ all of his blood rush down to his crotch.

He's too far gone, too focused on Richie's mouth on his body, on his hands fumbling with his pants, on his low, panting voice. He shivers when long, thin fingers draw the length of his cock trough his boxer briefs, takes a moment to breathe in and look down at his boyfriend, cheeks red and eyes hooded. Richie's lips are a dark pink, plump from making out, and behind his glasses his gaze is hazy with desire.

Eddie can barely move or talk, but he still finds the will to carress Richie's cheek with one hand, making him smile softly as he pulls down his underwear. Eddie wants to pull him back up so he can kiss him again, but Richie seems to have something else on his mind as he moves his head back a bit.

It should be illegal being that hot.

“Let me suck your dick?” He asks with a voice Eddie doesn't recognize, tinted with want and pleasure.

“ _Fuck,_ Rich, yes _please_ ” Eddie moans, hiding his face behind his hands. He takes in a shaky breath, tries to regain a bit of composture as he stares at Richie, who's now on all fours between his legs, his lips so close to his dick he can feel the ghost of their touch. “You have no idea how hot you are right now”, he adds, a chuckle escaping him.

Richie doesn't waste any time teasing him, and Eddie nearly loses it when he feels the warmth of his tongue licking his dick from the bottom all the way to the top, lets out a loud groan when his boyfriend takes him all in his mouth, wet and hot and everything he's ever wanted.

It's messy and loud and indecent but it feels so fucking good and Eddie couldn't care less about how unhygienic this is, about the germs and bacteria and the fact he hasn't showered yet, and Richie himself doesn't seem like he cares anyways. He lets a hand run through the dark curls tickling his stomach, feels the vibration of his boyfriend's moan around his cock when he pulls on it a little.

“You like it when I do that?” He asks, out of breath, pulling with a bit more strength this time, and the way Richie whimpers nearly makes him come on the spot. “Rich, this feels so good I won't last long baby...”

His voice sounds an octave higher than usual, at least, as he feels warmth pool in his abdomen, his heart beating ten times faster, and he mumbles something unintelligible to Richie, tries to tell him he's about to explode, and Richie just keeps on moving his head up and down with his hand, moaning around his cock like that's all he's ever asked from life.

Eddie comes with his name on his lips, spilling himself in Richie's mouth, body spasming from his orgasm. It takes him a while to register what just happened, and it's only when he sees his boyfriend's face come back up in front of him that he gets back to earth. Richie is smiling widely, eyes sparkling, lips shiny with spit. He kisses him softly, chuckles as Eddie tries to stop the spasms shaking his body.

“I don't remember the last time I came that hard”, Eddie whispers in his neck, and Richie grins, pulling his pants back up in case someone enters the room. “You want me to take care of you?”

“As much as I would like to, that won't be necessary”, Richie answers, looking down at his hands, his cheeks pink. “I busted a nut in my pants like a fucking virgin”, he laughs awkwardly.

“A virgin that sure does know how to use his tongue”, Eddie laughs in return, and Richie turns to him with wide eyes.

“Really?”

“Dude. I'm pretty sure you were there and you just saw me lose my fucking mind over your dick-sucking skills”, Eddie deadpans, but then, after a minute of silence, he asks, hesitantely: “Wait... Rich, are you a virgin?”

The silence he gets as an answer is pretty clear, and when he turns to Richie, he sees him biting his lower lip, face a deep shade of red.

“Maybe”, Richie finally lets out, his voice small, and Eddie melts.

He melts because his boyfriend is so fucking adorable, and clearly doesn't realize how little all of this matters. Though, Eddie knows the pressure boys are put under when it comes to their sex life, and he knows how embarrassing it can feel. He puts a hand on Richie's thigh, tryng to be reassuring, but Richie squirms under the touch.

_Mr Brightside_ plays outside the room, they hear it through the door, and there's something nostalgic about this song, Eddie doesn't know why but it kind of makes him feel like he's fifteen again, an angsty teenager struggling with his sexuality and his love life. It's a good song.

“Richie, it's okay...” He whispers over the muffled sound of the music. “I don't care about that and you shouldn't either”, he adds for good measure.

Richie shrugs beside him, eyes still glues to his hands on his lap, still biting his lower lip.

“I know, it's dumb”, he lets out finally. “But like, I don't know. I'm nineteen. I guess I thought I'd be done with that by now. I don't know. It's stupid.”

He waves a hand to dismiss the conversation, awkward, but Eddie is not done with it. He's not done until he makes sure his boyfriend knows how little he cares about his past sex life – or lack thereof – he's not done until he reassures Richie that he's an amazing lay and that he's better at sucking dick than literally anyone. He doesn't even need to test it to know it's true.

“Stop saying it's stupid.”

“It is, though.”

“It's _not_. What's stupid is thinking you're less of a person because you're still virgin at nineteen years old. Having sex before seventeen is not mandatory, you know. I know a lot of people who had their first time in their twenties. Just stop feeling ashamed of this. Besides, I think it's pretty sweet, you know, I get to live a bunch of these firsts with you, and I get to show you things. It's hot. Also it doesn't make me want your dick up my ass any less.”

Richie chokes as Eddie says the last words, and turns to him quickly, eyes wide open. Then, slowly, a grin appears on his lips.

“That was a lot more crude than I expected” he chuckles. “Didn't know you had it in you, Eddie-spaghetti.”

“I have a lot of things in me, and your dick will be one of these things, someday.”

He winks as he gets up the floor while Richie laughs, gives him a hand so he can stand up. They kiss softly, Richie hunched down a little so he's the right height, spend a moment in the middle of the room, just hugging, slow-dancing to the rythym of the music.

“I kinda want to get back home and cuddle”, Richie whispers in Eddie's neck.

“Yeah, me too. Let's do that. Just walk behind me so nobody knows you creamed your pants.”

“Wow. Thanks for the reminder. It's not as if my boxers have literally merged with my skin right now. Also I think it's gonna wax part of my thigh when I finally get them off. I am so uncomfortable right now.”

Eddie snorts as he opens the door. Thankfully, no one is paying attention to them, therefore no one notices they've been gone for a while. They leave silently, not bothering to search for Mike to say goodbye. Richie sends him a quick text, though, just so he knows they left. They walk back home hand in hand, slowly, comfortable despites the cold of the night and Richie's pants situation.

Spring is coming but it doesn't look like it; everything is still covered in dozens of centimeters of snow, and the air is still freezing. In Montreal winter often lasts until april, and they're only now reaching March. Still, that doesn't stop them from walking, even if they get home shivering and teeth clattering.

They try not to make a lot of noise as they get downstairs, but Richie is loud by nature, therefore it's no surprise he wakes his parents by slamming the door behind him a little too harshly. They run down the stairs as fast as they can, and Eddie lets Richie jumps in the shower before him considering his... precarious situation.

He daydreams for a while as he looks at Richie's painting. He does feel like that boy in red right now. He wishes he could feel like that everyday, and not be so stressed out all the time. His cheeks darken in bashfulness as he remembers this is how Richie sees him, beautiful and strong and passionate, and it's a weird feeling to experience so much emotions while simply looking at a painting.

It's not just _a_ painting though, he thinks. It's _his._ It's something his boyfriend painted especially for him, which makes it at least a thousand times more special.

Eddie is definitely a very lucky guy.

When Richie comes back from the bathroom, hair wet and glasses in his hand, Eddie can't help but grab him by the arm and kiss him gently before going in the shower himself.

They spend the rest of the night tangled in bed, soft sighs escaping from their mouth from time to time, just because they feel so good, and they fall asleep pretty quickly, Richie's head resting on Eddie's chest.

*

Eddie wakes up to the smell of something burning. Richie is not next to him, but he thinks he hears his voice coming from upstairs. He gets up slowly, takes the time to dress properly, and heads to the kitchen, where the smell is worse and the voices are louder. He stops in the doorframe to look at the scene, a smirk finding its way on his face.

Richie and Liam are both fighting over what seems to be a pancake mix, both covered in flour from head to toe, Richie holding a very crispy looking, burnt pancake in his hand.

“You were supposed to watch it!” He screams at his brother. “Why weren't you watching it?”

“I don't know, maybe because you exploded an entire fucking bag of flour on the floor and I was busy coughing my lungs out?”

“All right, all right, it's like that, I get it. Always my fault!” Richie exclaims dramatically as he throws the burnt pancake on the counter.

Eddie can't hold his laugh anymore and he snorts loudly when he sees his boyfriend awkwardly attempt to pour some of the mix in a pan that's way too hot. Liam quickly turns to him, startled, and Richie drops the bowl on the oven top.

“What the- Eds? Why are you up?” He asks.

“Because it's nine thirty and you guys are making a lot of noise? What are you even doing?”

Richie sighs, defeated, as he runs a hand through his powdered curls.

“I wanted to cook you breakfast and then Liam got in because he's just a copycat, so we decided we'd make pancakes because it's easy enough, right? Well turns out it's not as easy as we thought and I dropped a bag of flour – hence the look – and Liam burnt our first pancake into this black circle of sadness, which, pathetic, I know, and now the house smells like shit and there's flour every-fucking-where and you woke up which defeats the purpose of surprising you and I'm sad because I really wanted to make you happy.”

He's pouting and Eddie can't help but smile at the sight. Richie always puts so much energy into everything he does, and it's actually very nice of him that he wanted to cook him breakfast this morning. Eddie walks up to him slowly, wraps his arms around his tiny waist.

Richie still looks disappointed in himself, though, and he shrugs.

“I'm sorry”, he says. “This is not the morning I had planned for you.” He looks down at their feet, but Eddie stops him by taking his chin in one hand, keeping their eyes at the same level.

“Rich, baby”, he whispers, “I don't mind. I'm just happy you had the idea. It's really fucking sweet. What do you think about going out to eat instead?”

“Yeah, okay.”

They kiss softly until Liam gags. Richie just gives him the finger as he keeps on kissing Eddie, his pout now replaced by a small grin.

They end up going to a small restaurant not so far away with Liam and Alex, and Richie spends most of the time grinning at his boyfriend, his hand on his thigh under the table. It feels good, that kind of proximity, all of them getting together. Eddie's happy Richie has a better relationship with his brother now, and he finds out he actually quite likes Liam.

As different as they look, they're pretty similar when it comes to their weird, gross sense of humour and their loud, exhuberant behaviour. Liam is also an artist, he learns, though he's more on the musical side of things.

When they leave, Eddie has to go to practice, and Richie absolutely _insists_ they come to watch him.

“It's gonna be boring”, Eddie warns. “Besides, it's not that impressive.”

“Aw, come on, Eds, I wanna see you in action! See what those watermelon-crushing thighs can do!”

“You gotta stop bringing that up, I swear.”

“But you never sent me the video! How can I be sure it's true?”

“You have to believe. Also, I already told you I lost it.”

“Wait-” Liam interrupts when he's done paying, “You can crush a watermelon with your thighs?”

Eddie sighs loudly as Richie snickers, obviously very proud of himself.

“Why is it so fucking surprising?” He snaps.

“Dude. It's a _watermelon._ Alright let's make a deal. You go to practice alone _but_ while you're there we-” He points at himself, Alex and Richie “-are going to the grocery store and when you come back you and I are having a contest. I wanna know if I can do it, too.”

It's funny, Eddie thinks, how being in love softens you. A few years ago, when Beverly dared him to try it, he categorically refused until he had enough alchool in his system – a lot – to finally abdicate. And now, he doesn't even have to drink anything; he just look at Richie's puppy eyes, ten times magnified by his glasses, and he melts.

“I swear to fucking god this is the only time you'll ever see me do this”, he warns for good measure, but Richie doesn't seem to care because suddenly he's all smiles and heart eyes and happinness.

*

Practice is harder today as he ate a lot for breakfast, so Eddie takes it easy. He does a few laps around the rink, does some stability exercises, but nothing to harsh on his body. He'll do more tomorrow.

Qualifications for the competition are coming fairly soon, and if he's confident he's gonna be selected, Eddie isn't quite sure his time is good enough to earn himself a first place and a scholarship, though, so he needs to keep training until he gets back to the place he was before he let go a little, when he was in his best shape. Maybe if he qualifies he'll look for a coach.

It was a lot of work, he remembers, getting up early every morning to go to the gym and then heading straight to the ice rink as school finished, having to squeeze in homework, sleep and social life between all of this. And now that he has Richie, he knows he has to sacrifice something to make some time for him in his schedule, so he goes to the gym a bit less, focuses his energy on skating instead.

It's not that bad. Even if he loves sports and being active in general, he's fairly sure he loves Richie more, and it's not like Richie is bad for him – in fact he's actually been beneficial to him.

He has had less panic attacks than usual in the past weeks, and even if his anxiety is still there, lurking at the back of his mind, somehow he can control it better now. Maybe it's just the fact that he's acutally happy for the first time in a while. Maybe going to that group therapy was a good thing, after all. He never properly thanked Stan for that.

He sends him a quick text, and writes to Bev as well, since it's been a while they've done something just the three of them. They've all been pretty busy.

He stops by his old house on his way home. It's weird, thinking Sonia is not in there, sitting on her armchair, watching soap operas as usual while she waits for him to come back. It still feels kind of unreal, the idea of her being _gone_ but not quite dead.

Eddie wonders, sometimes, if it would have been easier if she just died. He feels horrible for thinking it, but her being in a coma makes everything a thousand times more complicated. And he thinks maybe it hurts more, too, because she could wake up any time, call him, ask him to get back home with her, crying and whining and sobbing.

He really wishes he could leave the past behind, brush off everything she's done to him and pretend nothing ever happened. Things would be better, he's sure of it, and he wouldn't feel so empty in that part of his heart, but as much as he tries, he can't forget it. He can't forgive all those years of manipulation and all those lies, he just can't.

And sometimes he feels like it's eating him alive.

All the things he said to her at the hospital, he wishes she could have heard them for real. There's a weight off his shoulders now, sure, but it's still not ideal, there's still something missing.

He still doesn't have closure.

He turns around without even taking a step towards the house, walking faster to get to Richie's as soon as possible. He needs his presence.

When he arrives a few minutes later, he's greeted by Alex, who's standing on bedsheets in the middle of the living room, two watermelons in hands.

“Eddie! We were getting everything ready, as you can see. Liam and Richie take all of this very seriously, it seems.”

“Yes”, he grunts, “It seems they do.”

She winks at him as he walks further into the house, shedding his several layers of clothes as he goes. When he sees him, Richie instantly lights up.

“Eds! Are you ready for the most amazing moment of my life?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, not bothering to answer as he gets down to the room to put away his things, and Richie follows him with a huge smile on his face.

“So, what are you gonna wear?”

“I don't know, a swimsuit, I guess.”

“And for the top?”

“Why the fuck would I have to change my t-shirt? I'm only using my legs!”

“I don't know, you could wear something sexier!”

Richie grins at him, wiggling his eyebrows.

“I'm not doing this to be sexy, you soggy slice of bread! I'm doing this so you will shut up about it!”

“Okay, but you could do a two-in-one and look hot doing it! Have you considered that?”

“Okay, I'm considering... and the answer is no fucking way in hell.”

“Eds, come on!” Richie whines, “Do it for me please?”

Eddie likes his boyfriend very much. He likes him a lot. Even if he's a pain in the ass.

And that's why he yanks his shirt over his head and runs up the stairs.

It's the most ridiculous thing he's ever done. Maybe it was the alchool, but it seemed a lot less silly the last time he did it, and now, as he's sitting on the floor next to Liam, a bedsheet under them so it's easier to clean up the mess and a watermelon between their thighs, he feels like a complete idiot.

It doesn't help that Richie and Alex are both chuckling, phones in hand and already filming.

“Okay, so the task is: crush a watermelon between your strong, manly thighs!” Richie announces to his camera with and awful presentator voice. “In one corner, we have Liam, a lame-ass hoe, and in the other corner, we have Eddie, Eds, Eddie-spaghetti, the most beautiful man alive and also the hottest, coolest, nicest, sexiest human being to have ever walked on this earth-”

“Rude, Richard. Rude”, Liam comments.

“Don't call me Richard, you basic bitch!” He turns back to his camera, grinning widely. “As you can see, Liam really is a lame-ass hoe. Look at him! He still has a shirt on! Lame. So anyways, winner gets bragging rights and also twenty bucks from the loser. I just decided that. Also loser has to wear this crown that Alex made.” He shows to the camera a flimsy paper crown with the word _lame_ written all over it. “So yeah, may the best – Eddie – win!”

Eddie and Liam both sigh loudly as he gestures towards them, but they get ready nonetheless.

And as silly as it is, Eddie feels kind of anxious, now, because what if he can't do it anymore? Wouldn't that look pathetic? Also what if Liams somehow does it faster? He hates losing. Also he would never say it out loud, but he does want Richie to be all hot and bothered when he sees him do it. Also he's very competitive. That's a lot of alsos.

When Alex and Richie yell at them to start, it's like Eddie enters his competition mode. The world fades out and there's only him, the melon and the blanket. He crosses his ankles, adjusts himself, and he clearly hasn't lost any strenght, because the watermelon literally explodes on him after a few seconds. He hears Richie yell, his voice way higher than usual, and when he turns to Liam, moments after, he sees him succeed as well, though, to be completely honest, it's maybe, just maybe, not as impressive as the way he did it.

It doesn't take long before Richie is all over him, cheeks red from excitement, his phone still filming.

“I declare Eddie, the most beautiful man alive, to be the winner! Also he's my boyfriend! And I get to touch these legs whenever I want!” As if to prove his point, he pats Eddie's thigh, still grinning. “Eds, do you have anything to say to our audience?”

“What audience? It's gonna be like, only you watching this video.”

“Nuh-uh, I'm live on facebook.”

“You are _what?_ ”

The facebook live ends very abruptly.

*

They end up kissing wetly on the floor, Liam and Alex long gone. Eddie feels sticky from the sugar on his thighs but Richie is rutting agaisnt him, already so fucking hard, and he can't say no to that.

“Eds fuck that was so fucking hot you have no idea how turned on it got me I swear” He pants between two kisses, his lips red and plump.

“I think I have a pretty good idea, actually”, Eddie grins, letting a hand run down Richie's chest. “Wanna go downstairs?”

Richie just nods and gets up hastily, the buldge in his pants clearly visible as he's standing. It's a pretty sweet view for Eddie, being the one that made him look like this in the first place. It's always so intoxicating, this feeling of control he gets when he sees his boyfriend like that. Maybe it's a weird kind of power-trip, or some kind of fetish, but for Eddie, who's been manipulated and lied to for most of his life, there's something incredibly arousing about being aware of the effect he has on people, about knowing _he's_ the one provoking these reactions. He was never aware of these things before, and even when he was, it still felt unreal, like no one could possibly be this attracted to him.

Now, though, Eddie knows just how real this is.

He follows Richie to the bedroom, resuming their kissing as soon as the door is closed behind them. He licks into Richie's mouth as he gets over him on the bed, grinds their hips together, desperate for some kind of friction already.

He can literally feel his boyfriend _vibrate_ with heat under him, hands gripping his thighs so tightly Eddie thinks they might leave marks.

“You love my legs, uh?” He asks, even though he already knows the answer.

Richie moans in his neck, hot and needy, brain clearly too foggy to think of something to say. Eddie wants to rip his sweatshirt off his chest so bad, he wants to feel Richie's skin against his own, the warmth, the goosebumps and shivers of pleasure, he wants to see it, kiss it, lick it, but he knows Richie's not ready yet. Even if they haven't talked about it, he can feel it in the way he sligthly tenses up whenever Eddie's fingers brush his stomach.

To stop himself from thinking about it anymore, Eddie focuses on their pants, both way too tight at the moment, chuckles when he hears Richie whimper as he carresses the head of his dick through his underwear.

“You wanna fuck them?”

He feels Richie's dick twitch underneath his fingers as he opens his eyes to stare at him.

“W-what?” He manages to get out in a breath, his neck and face flushed a deep shade of red.

“Do you wanna fuck my thighs?” Eddie asks again, voice lower this time. He's never done this before, but he's stumbled across a few porn videos lately and he has a feeling Richie would enjoy it. A lot.

Richie curses under his breath and then nods, eyes still a bit hazy and unfocused, and he rolls them over so he's on top of Eddie. He takes a moment to look at his boyfriend, all flustered and panting under him, his hair a mess.

“You're so fucking beautiful, Eds”, he whispers, leans down to kiss him. “So beautiful.”

Eddie quickly finds himself naked under Richie. He tries to push back the thoughts about the awkwardness of the situation, his boyfriend still fully clothed, ends up closing his eyes when Richie sits back on his legs, straddling him.

There's a soft brush of fingers on his skin.

“I wish you could see you”, Richie whispers. “Clearly you're an alien or something. No human being should be this hot, this is unfair.” He flips Eddie over as he talks, places wet kisses in the back of his neck. He stops for a moment while he reaches in his nightstand's drawer for lube, and Eddie shivers when he feels the cold gel on his closed thighs, just below his ass.

As it turns out, he had a really good intuition about Richie loving the experience and he has to focus really hard on not coming on the spot when he hears the deep, throaty moan that escape his boyfriend's lips as he inserts himself between Eddie's legs.

“ _Fuck_ why is this so fucking hot”, he whines in Eddie's neck, his voice hoarse and his whole body shivering.

Truth is, Eddie doesn't even know why it's so hot, but it is, and people have fetishes a lot weirder than that, he thinks. Richie moves slowly at first but quickly picks up the pace when Eddie starts moaning in the pillow, rutting against the bedsheets, desperate for any kind of friction.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ” are the only words that Richie is able to pronounce at the moment, his eyes slightly rolled back in his head, his hands holding on Eddie's hips tightly.

He ends up coming all over Eddie, and a few minutes later, Eddie comes down his throat, muffling a cry behind his hands.

Richie collapses on his stomach right after, head turned towards his boyfriend, a huge, lovesick smile on his face.

“That was definitely one of you best ideas so far”, he lets out finally with a shaky laugh. “If you told me five months ago that _this_ would happen, my virgin ass would've never fucking believed it.”

“Your ass is still a virgin, though”, Eddie whispers hotly as he traces patterns on Richie's back with the tip of a finger. He doesn't miss the way Richie's cheeks darken as he talks, nor the slight shiver that shakes his body.

“Yeah, well, y-you know what I meant”, he stutters, closing his eyes to avoid further embarrassement.

There's a moment of silence. Eddie can feel that Richie wants to say something in the way he squirms slightly in place, opens and closes his mouth right after, but he doesn't want to pressure him so he keeps on running his fingers on his his spine, between his shoulderblades, through his soft curls.

“But like, I mean, it's not like my ass is gonna stay virgin forever anyways”, Richie finally mumbles, avoiding eye contact.

“It's not?” Eddie raises and eyebrow, a grin slowly forming on his lips.

“Alright, alright, fuck off, Spaghetti head. I'm not embarrassing myself further” Richie scoffs.

“That's not what I want you to do! I just think it's hot you want me to fuck you. I was under the impression you'd be more excited about doing it the other way around. I don't know.”

“Well it's not like I _don't_ want to do it the other way either!” He shrieks. “Stop looking at me like that! Why are you even talking about this?”

“Hey, you talked about you virgin ass first, I only followed.”

“So it's my fault, I see the way it is.”

They keep bickering until Eddie says he wants to shower, and Richie lifts himself off of him, his sweater staying stuck to Eddie's chest for a few seconds.

“Gross”, he snorts. “Look at what you've done to my sweater!” He points the dry patches of lube covering it as Eddie gives him the finger.

“You're the one that smeared lube all over it somehow! Don't try to guilt me into thinking it's my fault!”

“Well, it kind of is your fault, still. You suggested this whole thing. Wouldn't have happened if it wasn't for you.”

“Right. Okay. You still got a boner from the watermelon thing like a fifteen year old, though.”

“Rude. That's kinkshaming.”

“And you deserve every bit of it.”

He ignores Richie's loud laugh as he gets to the bathroom, a smile on his face. He can't remember the last time he felt that good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had a lot of fun writing some scenes of this chapter, i hope you liked them! dont forget to leave a comment, i always appreciate it! <3   
> see you soon for the next chapter <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this past week was crazy. i barely had time to sit and re-read this chapter, and i am so, so tired. i did my best with y editing job, but it's possible a couple of spelling errors made their way in this final version. i hope you like it! we have a guest star in this chapter, and very, very soft moments. spoiler alert: it's fluff. it's all fluff.   
> not much trigger warnings either:
> 
> tw for mentions of past self-harm  
> tw for explicit sexual content  
> tw for body image issues
> 
> enjoy!

“Richard, can you stay for a minute, please? I'd like to talk to you.”

A shiver runs down Richie's spine as his Creative painting's teacher looks up at him from her desk. She's got an unreadable look in her eyes and Richie can't help but wonder what he's done wrong. He does talk a lot in class, but his teachers are usually pretty cool about it, and he was actually pretty quiet today. Maybe it's got nothing to do with this. Maybe she just wants to ask him what's good or something.

He waits nervously for everyone to leave the classroom as he packs his things, trying not to overthink the whole thing. Once everybody is out, he walks to the front of the room, his teacher's heavy look stuck to his skin like glue.

“I want to talk about your last project”, she starts with an unreadable tone. Richie shivers.

They had a free assignement to do and he decided that his Eddie painting deserved to be seen by some other people, so that's what he handed over. Maybe it wasn't a good idea. Maybe she hates it.

She teacher takes a deep breath, hands clasped in front of her.

“Tell me more about this painting.”

“Well, hum, as you know it's called _Eddie”,_ he starts, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, “and it's a painting I did for my boyfriend. I wanted him to see himself the way I did.”

Richie always talks a lot, he loves it, but he never talks about anything personal, and his art, it's something else, it is _so_ personal, it's so intimate, and talking about it feels impossible most of the time. Words get stuck in his throat, and he ends up deflecting, too scared and too exposed.

He feels like that right now, and even though he's standing in front of her, his teacher seems so tall and imposing right now that Richie's insides curl up on themselves.

“I have to say I'm surprised, this is very different from the art I usually see you doing. It's very raw.”

“Yeah, I guess I got carried away while I was doing it. It was like... time stopped, you know? I didn't even take the time to eat that day, because everything just came to me so fast and I didn't want to lose my streak.”

He hasn't had very good grades in this class since the beginning of the semester in january. He passed, but without any honors, and most of the time the comments he received were that his work seemed uninspired, or something of the sort. It's not completely untrue, per se, because Richie does have moments were he sits in front of a blank canvas with no freaking idea what to do, and it's true it sometimes take him a lot of effort to come up with an idea worth exploring.

It's not that he's not creative; he is, but years of bullying have made him unsure of himself, and very, very much afraid to share. He didn't even want to study art, when he graduated high school, but his therapist thought it would be a good idea, that it would help him share and open himself to others. It did work... to a certain extent.

Most of the time, though, Richie is still too afraid, and turns in work that is well-executed, yes, but definitely too shy.

“I'm gonna be completely honest with you here, Richard: this is by far the best painting I've seen you, and any of my students do since years. It's beautiful, it's pure, it's passionate and loving, we can feel your energy in every brush stroke, it's shameless. I showed it to my colleagues from the Arts Department and we all agree on this. I would like for this painting to be a part of our gallery's permanent exposition. It certainly deserves a place there.”

Richie lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding as he tries to slow down his heartbeat. So much information to take in, and so unusual. Relief flows through him.

He takes a moment to really let it sink in. The college's gallery is big, and he knows about a lot of people who had their breakthrough by being featured there. And it wouldn't be just any of his paintings, it would be _Eddie's,_ it would be Eddie's face painted in sunset colors, it would be Eddie with a flower crown, it would be Eddie with a lot of love. Just the thought of it makes him feel lightheaded, and he has to pinch himself just to make sure everything is real.

“That would be... really fucking amazing, actually.”

Mrs Albarao nods, a slight smile on her lips. Richie's pretty sure he's buzzing with energy at the moment, but he doesn't care, because he's just so fucking proud, and Richie is not often proud of himself.

“Perfect. I'll get the paperwork with the school and bring it to you in class next week. In the meantime, Richard, keep going that way. I feel there's still a lot to be discovered about you, and it's time you show us. You have a lot of talent, and a lot of passion; don't be shy to make use of it.”

“Y-yeah, I will. Thanks, by the way.”

“You are very welcome.”

He practically runs out of the class bursting with pride and happinness and a warmness in the middle of his chest. He wipes away a few tears of relief, takes his cellphone to text Eddie.

_**Richie** _

_EDS_

_oh my god_

_this is the best day of my life_

_call me when u see this_

It takes about half a second for Eddie to actually call him.

“Eddie! Eddie-spaghetti! You are not gonna believe this” he answers immediately. “I just talked to my Creative Painting teacher, and she wants the painting I made of you to be a part of our gallery's exposition! It's fucking big, Eds! Fuck, I feel like this is a dream. I'm so happy. Are you home? Are you done with practice and all? I can't fucking wait to see you!”

“ _Yeah, I just got home actually”_ Eddie answers over the line. Richie can hear the smile in his voice. “ _I'm really proud of you, Rich. Though it feels weird to know my face is gonna be exposed at your school._ ”

“You better get used to it, 'cause I just decided you're my muse so I'm gonna paint your face a _lot_ now. And your body too. In the nude.”

“ _God I hate you. You will never – and I put a lot of emphasis on the word – paint me like one of your french girls._ ”

“Was that a Titanic reference? Did you really just do that?”

“ _I did. Also I couldn't wait to do it. It's like the epitome of comedy._ ”

“Yeah, it is. You're still the worst, though.”

When he comes home about an hour later that night, Eddie is helping his mom prepare dinner in the kitchen.

And it all looks so natural, so fucking domestic it makes Richie's heart ache with love. He doesn't say it, though, because it's probably too soon, and he doesn't want to freak Eddie out. Still, he's fairly sur he fell in love with him like, the minute he say him walk in that group therapy. It only got worse from there.

He smiles as he circles his arms around Eddie's waist, placing a soft kiss on his temple.

“Hey there, hot stuff. How was your day?”

He loves it, coming home to his boyfriend, ranting about their days, eating dinner and then making out until they fall asleep in each other's arms. Richie's always been a sucker for anything romantic, and now that he has the chance to actually experience these things, he feels he can never get enough of them.

The world is softer with Eddie.

*

They're in the bedroom, Richie sitting at his desk in his stitch one-piece, Eddie lying on the bed, looking at some video on his phone. He's smiling slightly, his usual frown nowhere to be seen. When Richie turns to look at him, he looks up, their eyes meet, and they don't even have to say a thing before Richie crawls on the bed, on top of Eddie.

He places a soft kiss on his lips, something very chaste, just to have a little taste before he has to go back to his homework.

“You're so pretty”, he whispers in Eddie's ear, making him shiver.

They kiss again, this time longer, and deeper, and Eddie wraps his legs around Richie's waist joining their hips together, relishing in their proximity. Richie breaks off the kiss quickly, an idea taking shape in his mind.

“Let me draw you”, he says in a breath.

“Is this a joke?”

“No!” Richie defends himself immediately. “No, I really want to draw you. No kidding.”

Eddie seems to be thinking for a minute, biting his lower lip, before he finally nods.

“Okay”, he says finally, “What do you want me to do?”

“Hum...” Richie hesitates. He hasn't thought that far; he wasn't even sure Eddie would agree to this in the first place. He has a plan, maybe, but he's not quite certain his boyfriend would be on board with it. “Could you, like, take your clothes off, maybe?” He feels his face flush as Eddie raises a suspicious eyebrow, searching for some kind of humoristic sparkle in his eyes. Richie knows he won't find anything of the sort, though.

“I thought I said just today that I would never let you do that”, Eddie says, but the tone of his voice doesn't quite match the words; it's soft and uncertain, like a whisper.

“I just- It's okay if you don't want to, you know. I don't wanna pressure you or anything”, Richie answers quickly, lifting his hands. “You're just so beautiful and apparently it's a good thing when I bare my soul in my work and I just have so many emotions right now so I thought it would make a pretty good drawing, you know, but if you're uncomfortable with the idea it's okay too-”

“Richie, you're rambling.” Eddie interrupts by putting a finger on his lips, and Richie has to gather every ounce of strenght he has left not to suck on it.

He fails.

Eddie's breath hitches when Richie takes the finger in his mouth, wrapping his tongue around it. He lets out a soft whimper, doesn't break eye contact. Richie can see his pupils expand and his irises get ten shades darker as he takes more in his mouth, sucking softly.

“Rich...”

Eddie forces his jaw open as he pushes another finger inside, and then another. He looks at Richie with his lips slightly parted, cheeks pink and breath short, and Richie keeps on sucking with an indecent amount of need, moaning around the knuckles.

And then he lets go of them, grinning at Eddie's obviously frustrated look.

“Let me draw you”, he repeats with his voice hoarse. “Get naked for me, Eds.”

Eddie only nods, still unable to detach his gaze from Richie's, shivers as he takes off his sweatshirt, soon followed by his pajamas' pants. Then, he lies completely naked before Richie, his erection lying on his stomach, chest moving up and down faster than usual. Richie gets back to his desk to take a pencil and his sketchbook, rolls his chair next to the bed so he has a better view of Eddie.

He looks so beautiful under the yellow light of the bedroom, sprawled on top of the bedsheets, his chest flushed and his eyes dark with desire. It ignites something in Richie so intense he thinks he might burst in flames on the spot. But he doesn't, and he just keeps looking at his very hot, very naked boyfriend, wondering how the fuck he's gonna be able to focus on drawing.

Eddie's dark, long lashes paint moving shadows on his cheeks, and Richie wonders how it's possible for a human being to be so fucking gorgeous.

“What do you want me to do, Rich?” Eddie asks in a murmur, and Richie shivers at the sound.

“Touch yourself” Richie whispers back, and then closes his mouth immediately, startled at the confidence he talked with.

Eddie half-smiles but he does as he's told, and Richie watches his hand brush softly on his chest until it reaches the fine trail of hair under his navel, and he keeps watching as Eddie wraps his fingers around his dick, moving his hand so slowly it hurts.

Richie's gaze alters between his boyfriend and his sketchbook, drawing without even thinking about it. It's like his hand has a mind of its own, and it just keeps moving on the paper, mindlessly, reproducing every single detail Richie's brain registers. The slight arch of Eddie's lower back, the way his neck is exposed as he throws his head back, his eyes half-lidded, his lips ever-so-slightly parted, the hand in his hair, the other cupping his balls, his stomach rising and lowering, and Richie wishes he could draw sounds, he wishes he could draw the way Eddie moans his name as he touches himself.

Richie wants to touch himself too, his dick so hard it's tenting his one-piece, but he can't do that _and_ hold his sketchbook _and_ draw at the same time, so he sets up his sketchbook on the nightstand, freeing his left hand, reaching to his crotch to try an relieve some of the tension. It only makes his hips jerk up, though, and he knows he won't last very long.

He keeps on drawing with his right hand, not really looking at what he's doing anymore, more focused on the waves of pleasure crashing through him as he looks at his boyfriend. He gets his hand in his one-piece, not holding back the soft moans that escape him anymore. His vision gets blurry, and he knows Eddie's on the verge of losing it too, if the way he starts breathing is any indicator.

“ _Fuck_ Eds you're so fucking hot and I'm not gonna last long”, he whimpers, and that's what seem to set Eddie off because seconds later he's muffling back a loud moan behind a hand as he comes all over his chest. Richie follows less than a minute after, the lines on his drawing getting really thick and shaky as he rides his orgasm.

He cleans his left hand on an old t-shirt and wipes Eddie's chest with it after, chuckling as Eddie tries to bring him on the bed so they can cuddle.

“Just let me wipe this off and then I'm all yours, I swear!”

And he does as promised, throwing the shirt away as soon as he's finished and climbing in bed next to his boyfriend. He snuggles his face in his neck, kisses the golden skin just under Eddie's jaw, sucks a deep red spot on his shoulder, where no one else can see it.

“I like you so much”, Eddie mumbles, his nose in Richie's hair, as he takes a long inhale of his smell, the shampoo, the perfume, the subtle cigarette.

“I like you so much too”, Richie answers as he plants a kiss on his boyfriend's clavicle. “Can't believe you really let me do this”, he grins after a few seconds.

“Yeah, I can't believe either. That drawing better be good.”

“It's gonna be the hottest drawing on the surface of this fucking planet, I swear on my mother's grave.”

“Your mother's not even dead, you brain-dead slut.”

“I can't believe you would call me a brain-dead slut after what we just did, Eduardo. That's just plain rude.”

Eddie snorts loudly. Richie loves seeing him so relaxed.

“Well, you know how I am: just plain rude. No- keep doing that”, Eddie says as Richie stops tickling his stomach with the tip of his finger.

So Richie listens, and he keeps drawing patterns into Eddie's skin, and little houses, trees and stars, and then his name, and if he winds up writing _i love you_ 's in the side of his waist, Eddie doesn't notice, or at least, he doesn't mention it.

*

Richie has always thought he'd never have a chance at happinness in his life. He knew it was pretty dramatic, alright, but he couldn't help feeling that way, hopeless and pathetic.

Now, though, it's quite different. It still feels unreal, sometimes, like a dream, like he'll wake up to find himself alone and sad, but every morning when he looks at Eddie still sleeping in his bed, he remembers it's true, all of it.

And it's scary, feeling happy for the first time. It somehow doesn't feel _normal,_ it doesn't feel like it'll last. He's so used to feeling empty that he doesn't know what to do with the emotions that are bursting out of him now; it's so overwhelming he often finds himself crying, but not because he's sad, just because it's so much all at once, and he doesn't know how to deal with it. He talks to his therapist about it frequently, and she told him it was a normal reaction, that it happened to a lot of depressed people when they started to get better, and that being scared was okay.

Every morning, when he wakes up, Richie looks at himself in the mirror, and says to his reflection _it's okay if you're scared._

He's started painting a lot more in the past few weeks, and Eddie finds his way into every single one of his paintings, his face, his aura, his name. Richie always thought the idea of having a muse was quite ridiculous – because what kind of artist absolutely needs somebody else in order to be able to create – but it doesn't seem so silly now, and he's starting to understand what hides behind the concept.

It's just that artists create with their feelings, their passion, anger and joy and despair and lust, and some people only experience these emotions thanks to a specific someone.

Having a muse is also very romantic, so naturally, Richie loves it. And he loves his muse.

He's slowly getting ready to say it. He's written the words, mouthed them, sometimes even whispered them to a sleeping Eddie, but he still hasn't really _said_ them.

Truth is, when he thinks about it, being in love is actually pretty fucking terrifying. It's opening up, being bare and vulnerable, it's taking risks and it's accepting that things may not turn out the way we want them to. What if he gets his heart broken, or what if he breaks Eddie's heart? What would he do, then? What if he's going too fast?

“Dude, you're like, dropping a lot on me right now.”

Richie stops his rambling to turn to Georgie, Bill's younger brother he's “babysitting” at the moment. It's dumb, he thinks, because Georgie is thirteen years old and at his age Richie had been staying alone in his home for a while. He kind of understands, though, with what happened to Georgie when he was seven, him being abducted and held captive by a psychopath for days before the police finally found him, half dead in the sewers. Even if he grew up to be a perfectly normal teenager, his parents are still uncomfortable with the idea of him being alone.

So Richie babysits him from time to time, when they're not in town and Bill is busy. They pay him sixty bucks for the day and he likes Georgie, so he doesn't complain.

“I know, but that's what I have going on in my head like, at all times! Can you fucking imagine? It's awful.”

He lays back on the couch, hands over his eyes. It's a bit unusual, maybe, him talking about his relationship struggles to a boy that's six years younger than him, but Georgie has always been quite mature, and he knows how to keep a secret. Also there's less chances than Bill that he'll see Eddie in the near future, and he has that same dark green, comforting aura that his brother does. He's always a good person to talk to.

“I think you should just tell him already”, Georgie declares, like it's the easiest thing in the world. “It's clearly messing with your head. You'll feel better when it's out.”

“Yeah but it still feels like I'm moving too fast, like, we've only been dating for a couple months, fuck, we've only _known_ each other for a couple months! And then I feel like I'm not moving fast enough because we've been dating for two whole months and yet I still can't take my fucking shirt off in front of him.”

“Why don't you want to take your shirt off? It's not like you have boobs to hide.”

Richie curses under his breath, mentally slapping himself for letting this slip. He's been toying with the idea of telling his friends about his suicide attempt more and more in the past weeks, building up courage, but he wasn't planning on telling Georgie about it, at least, not now. They're close alright, but it still feels a bit... too much.

“I just- I have scars I don't want people to see”, he blurts, hoping it's enough of an answer for the boy.

“What kind of scars? Surgery?”

Oh well.

He contemplates the idea of lying for a few seconds. It would be way easier, but at the same time, maybe it's just a sign from the universe telling him to _fucking talk about it already._ Maybe it's better if he starts small, and then builds up his way to his close friends. Or maybe it's a bad idea and they'll be offended that he didn't tell them first? Fuck.

“I... No, not surgery”, he says finally. “Just scars from things I did to myself. Back in the days.”

“You mean self-harm?”

“Yeah, self-harm.”

It feels like a weight is lifted off his shoulders, and he inhales deeply, eyes closed. He can't stand to look at Georgie at the moment, not now that he _knows,_ and he's fucking thirteen for fuck's sake, what kind of a bad idea was that?

If he ignores the guilt, though, Richie does feel a lot lighter now that it's out.

Georgie stays silent for a while.

“Do you still do it?” He asks finally, his voice getting a bit higher than usual.

“No. I don't.”

“You know, I did it a few years ago too. When I was eleven.”

Georgie gets up from where he's currently sitting to get on the couch, righ next to Richie. He holds out his right arm before him, wrist up, as he points to the thin white lines that cover it.

There's not nearly as much as there is on Richie's own arms, but they're still there, perfectly real, on a thirtheen-year-old.

Richie lets out a dry sob as he brushes a finger over the scars, feeling the small bumps, and it hurts him so much, how bad does a kid has to feel to do _that_ to themselves, Georgie was eleven, that's not what you're supposed to do when you're eleven. You're supposed to stress out over high school and have best friends and enjoy the simple things in life. Then he remembers he was that kid once, admittedly older, and it lasted way longer than he'd like to admit.

“Why?”

“I don't know, it's blurry, but I guess, you know, I was angry, because I still had night terrors and nightmares nearly every night, and mom never wanted me to leave the house alone and none of my friends could get it, and it was the only way I could like, have control over something, release my frustrations, you know. At least that's what we determined with my therapist.” His arm is still up in front of Richie, trembling a little. “Why did you do it?”

“Because I hated myself and I wanted to die.”

Another sob escapes Richie as he lifts up his own arm, fiddling with the hem of his sleeve. He pushes it up slowly, all the way to his elbow, exposing the bold, thick scars of his suicide attempt, and all the ones underneath, smaller but still very visible. He grits his teeth as a phantom pain takes over him and he has to close his eyes, can't look at it any longer.

He can feel the air envelop the sensitive skin, making him shiver. It's covered so much of the time he's not used to it being free.

“Fuck...” Georgie mutters as he takes his wrist with a hand bringing Richie's arm closer to him. He traces the biggest scar with his middle finger. “You tried to kill yourself, didn't you?” He asks boldly, because just like him, Georgie is nothing but bold, in fact, he's probably even more direct than him. With what he went through, he's not scared of anything anymore.

Richie just nods, throat too tight to let any sound get out, eyes shut with force so they hold back his tears.

“That's fucked up, dude. You're like, the coolest guy I know!”

It makes Richie smile, that genuine tone in Georgie's voice.

“Yeah, well I'm not dead so you better count yourself lucky”, he says with half a smile, still too scared to open his eyes.

“You shouldn't hide them, though. They're like, the proof you made it. That you're fucking strong and all.”

“Are you my therapist? She said the same fucking thing” Richie jokes, finally blinking.

“Because it's the truth! You're freaking awesome, and Bill thinks so too. I think he loves you more than me.”

“That's impossible. He loves you, like, a ridiculous amount. I'm not even sure it's sane.”

Georgie chuckles, the atmosphere feels lighter, air is thinner. For a few seconds, Richie forgets about his exposed arm.

“For what it's worth I think you're cool too, you know. For a thirteen years old.”

They end up playing Mario Kart and Richie sucks so much it actually hurts his pride, but it takes his mind off of his other concerns for a while, and it feels good. He doesn't even bother lowering his sleeve, because he's with Georgie anyways, and Georgie knows.

It's quite liberating.

*

Richie ends up seeing his friends a lot sooner than he thought, only a few days after his conversation with Georgie.

He's thought about it a lot, since, and he decided he wanted to tell it to Bill, Mike and Ben, but now that he's faced with the occasion of actually telling them, he kind of wants to be a coward about it. He knows it would make him feel better to get it off his chest though, he's been hiding it for months now, and it's a burden that gets heavier everyday.

They're all sitting in Mike's living room, listening to Ben talk about some cool historical facts he learned in his classes, when Richie decides it's now or never. If he doesn't say it in the next seconds, he knows, deep down, he'll never come around it and he'll just keep hiding it deeper and deeper and the guilt will only grow worse.

He blurts it out as Ben says something about extinct species.

“I tried to kill myself last year.”

Everybody stops talking suddenly, turning to him with wide eyes. Bill is the first one to talk.

“W-what?”

“I tried to kill myself last year”, Richie repeats, and his voice cracks. “I... _fuck_ this is so hard to say.” He removes his glasses to scrubs his eyes with his palms, trying to force the tears back inside, somehow.

“Don't pressure yourself, Richie”, Mike says with his soft voice, because of course Mike would be so sweet and understanding. “We're here for you.”

Both Ben and Bill nod franctically.

“I've been like, mutilating for years and last year I had enough so I just tried to bleed to death but then Liam found me and he called an ambulance and I had to spend a few weeks at the hospital. I told you I went to my cousin's place in Toronto”, he gestures towards Bill, remembering the lame excuse he gave him when he got out and Bill told him how fucking worried he was. “And like, I wanted to tell you before today but I hate talking about it becaue it makes me cry and I hate crying, and like I do feel better now, I go to therapy and everything, that's actually how I met Eddie, but it's still so hard...”

He feels Mike's hand in his back, large and warm, as he speaks gently.

“You never _had_ to tell us, you know. But I'm happy you did. Is that why you always wear long sleeves, like in the spa at Beverly's place?”

Richie just nods.

“F-fuck, Richie... Don't feel bad about that, y-you just weren't ready to tell us, it's okay. B-b-b-but you feel better now, and that's what's important. Y-you know you can always talk to us. I'm fucking proud of you, Rich.”

He's suddenly wrapped in a tight hug, and Ben doesn't let go, holds him until Richie can't breathe anymore. When they break up, Ben keeps his hands on Richie's shoulders, looks at him deep in the eyes.

“Richie Tozier, you are one of the bravest persons I know, and you've come a long way since then. You get stronger everyday, and I'm very happy I can call myself your friend. You're always there for us, it's only natural we return the favor.”

“And you'll finally stop sweating your ass off in the summer”, Mike adds with a smile, and Richie snorts.

“Just try not to be too self-conscious, Mikey, under all these layers are some impressive biceps”

“Right. Can't wait to see that.”

He's not ready to show them the scars yet, though, so he doesn't, and they don't pry, they don't probe, they just let him talk, joke, and reference what he just said lightly. His arms hitch, his chest too, but he tries to ignore the weird feeling, instead just lives the moment completely.

Richie love his friends with all his heart.

“I'm so fucking lucky I got you guys”, he half-chokes with his face hidden behind his hands. He leans agaisnt Mike as they put on a movie, talks through all of it.

*

Richie is nervous all damn day as he waits for Eddie to get back home. He's decided he'll show him his scars today, because his night with his friends made him feel strong enough, but the longer he waits for his boyfriend to arrive, the more he panics.

He's pacing in the kitchen when his father gives him carrots to chop.

“There, focus on this, Richard. You're making me feel dizzy.”

Wentworth talks with a smile in his voice.

So Richie does as he's told, and he focuses on the carrots, tries to cut them as evenly as possible so they look perfect, and then he does the same with the onions his dad asks him to dice. He takes his sweet time, and Wentworth lets him go at his own pace.

Richie feels like he might faint when Eddie finally opens the front door, his ice skating bag in hands, cheeks red from the cold, his hair a straight up mess. Richie runs to him, hugs him tightly, takes in everything he can.

“Everything alright, Rich?” Eddie asks in his neck, voice concerned.

“Yeah, I'm just... I'm really happy to see you.”

They stay hugging in front of the door for a while, until Eddie starts getting hot in his winter coat and he has to remove it.

Dinner is light and breezy, but Richie feels Eddie's worried gaze on the side of his face a few times. He tries to brush it off, he knows he's acting weird, but he just can't, he keeps thinking about what Eddie's reaction will be when he finally sees his scar covered chest, how his face will fall, because clearly he's not gonna expect that much, and maybe he'll regret getting together with Richie, maybe he'll think he's too much, and then it will all be over and Richie will be heartbroken.

A shiver runs down his spine at the thought.

He really has to stop thinking about all these scenarios.

He feels Eddie's hand on his thigh under the table and his heart burns with love for him. He takes a huge bite of chicken to keep the words from leaving his mouth.

They help with the dishes, and then Liam leaves to go see Alex, and soon enough Richie finds himself in the shower, scrubbing his skin until it's red and raw, trying to erase the fine white lines that cover it. He knows it won't work, but he still tries and hopes that somehow magic is real and they'll disappear. He holds back a sob when they don't and he has to come to term with the fact that inevitably, Eddie will see them, and he'll have to face his reaction.

Eddie's sitting on top of the covers on the bed when Richie gets back to the bedroom wearing a stormtrooper pajamas. He looks up from the book he's reading and flashes him a smile, though his brows stay furrowed when he sees the panicked look on his boyfriend's face.

Richie just walks to the bed and sits in front of him, trying to control his breathing, four seconds in, four seconds out. He knows his hands are shaking, he can feel them, even though he places them on top of his knees. He suddenly feels a strong urge to get out and run for a few hours.

“Rich, seriously, I'm worried. You've been acting strange ever since I got here.”

He bites his bottom lip as he waits for an answer.

“Y-yeah”, Richie stutters, “I've been trying to build up courage.”

“Courage for what?”

It takes everything to get the words out.

“I wanna show you. All of it.” He gestures towards his chest, and Eddie's eyes widen almost comically.

“Are you sure you're ready for that?” He asks and his voice is a bit shaky, Richie knows he's concerned. He nods.

“Yeah, it's just, like, taking the first step, I guess. It's really fucking hard.”

Nervous hands reach the hem of his sweater, he just has one thing to do, it'll take only a second, he just has to pull it off over his head, but he's frozen in place, and he can't, he can't do any of that. He lets out a shaky breath, inhales as he looks back up at Eddie.

“Do you need my help?” Eddie asks with a soft, soft voice and soft, soft eyes.

“Yes, fuck, yes please.”

Richie's body spasms as his boyfriend gets closer to him, takes a hand and kisses the fingers.

“Let's switch places. You'll be more comfortable against the pillows.”

Eddie guides him on the bed to where he was sitting just before, and Richie just lies down, unable to stay sitting by himself. His whole body is shaky, he realizes, with Eddie sitting on his shins between his thighs.

He follows the hands that hover over his chest, Eddie's delicate fingers, shivers at their gentle brushes on the fabric of his shirt. His hair is spread on the pillow like a halo around his head, and as much as he wants to close his eyes to _not_ have to witness anything that's coming, he can't. He inhales sharply when the fingers reach the bottom of his shirt and start to raise it slowly. Eddie stops immediately, looks up at his face, looking for any sign of discomfort.

“You tell me if you change your mind.”

Richie nods and Eddie just keep on lifting his shirt over his stomach, exposing his pierced navel, smiling at the sight.

“It's cute”, he says, making Richie chuckle. “It suits you.”

Richie arches his back so Eddie can keep on riding the material up his chest, and soon he reaches the ribs, where the scars begin. Richie can pinpoint the exact moment Eddie sees them, the sad shimmer in his eyes, shining under a veil of tears. They don't flow, though, they just stay there, on the verge of running down.

“Take it off”, Richie murmurs finally. He can't keep this on any longer, he feels hot and uncomfortable, he just wants this to be over.

Eddie complies, gets the sweatshirt over Richie's head, and then, once it's off and thrown on the floor where it belongs, his gaze darts back to the scars, and his breath hitches slightly.

It's enough for Richie to start crying, though, and he lets the tears flow out of him silently, his lips tightly shut to prevent any sound from escaping, eyes glued to the ceiling.

Eddie's touch is so light on his skin he doesn't register it right away. He's tracing every line with his ring finger, lips parted and shaky. Richie can hear his heart beating from where he's laying. Or maybe it's his own heartbeat he's hearing.

“Rich...” Eddie whispers, barely audible, as his finger keeps on going over every scar covering Richie's chest.

There it is. Richie's not sure he's completely ready for what his boyfriend has to say, but he'll listen nonetheless. He's already crying, anyways, so at least he's prepared if things go bad. Eddie seems to hesitate for a moment before he starts talking again, his voice low.

And it's not at all what Richie was bracing himself for.

“Fuck, Rich, I love you.”

The words flow out of his mouth like it's the most natural thing in the world, like he's already said it a million times before, and this time Richie can't hold back the sobs that shake him.

He's not even sure why he's crying. Everything is just so overwhelming at the moment, and so much emotions are taking over, thought twirling around his mind, so he keeps crying, and Eddie just brings a soft hand to his jaw.

“I love you so fucking much”, he repeats, louder this time. “You are so beautiful and so strong and I love you, I don't care about these scars in fact I love them because they're a part of you and I'm so fucking lucky I get to talk to you and touch you and love you, Rich I'm so lucky you're still alive and I get to be with you, you're the best thing that's happened to me, and I'm so in love I feel dizzy sometimes when I think about you, and I just can't fucking believe it.” His voice his shaky and he's talking so fast Richie can barely register what he's saying, but he takes it in, all of it, as Eddie keeps on talking. “And I want to be sure you _know_ because you deserve all the love the world has to offer and more, you deserve so, so much Richie, fuck I love you.”

Richie loves how much Eddie swears when he's passionate about something. It's intoxicating, though, when he talks like that because he's passionate about _him._

“I love you too, Eds”, Richie finally manages to say, the inital shock gone. “I wanted to tell you like weeks ago but I was afraid you might think I was going too fast or something but I love you so much it hurts.”

And then Eddie's lips are on his, not quite rough but definitely passionate and needy as he runs his hands down Richie's chest to his waist. It's skin on skin and Richie whimpers at every touch, the feeling so unusual but so very welcome. He feels so vulnerable, exposed like this before Eddie, it's the first fucking time it ever happened, but he thinks maybe he'd be ready for it to happen again.

Their kisses are deep and wet, tongues twirling in each other's mouth, Richie grasping at Eddie's short curls like his life depends on it, Eddie's hand on his hips, gripping so tight they'll probably leave marks.

Richie has so many things he wants to say, he wants to say _eds i love you so much_ he wants to say _your skin is so warm and soft_ he wants to say _keep touching me please_ but the words only half come out, incoherent and shaky. Eddie still seems to understand what he wants, though, because he grinds against him and pants in his ear, keeps on kissing his mouth, his face, his everything.

“Love you so much”, he whispers between two kisses, “Wanna make you feel good, so good, Rich, you drive me fucking crazy.”

Richie is a mess under him, his skin on fire and his breath ragged, and everything around him takes Eddie's colors, red, orange, pink and yellow hues, like a sunrise or a sunset or something burning, everything is just so _warm_ as he finally manages to talk.

“Fuck me”, he groans as Eddie takes his cock in his hand, “Fuck me senseless fuck me until I forget my name fuck me until I can't walk anymore or talk anymore Eds I want you I need you want to have you inside me-” his voice gets higher the more he talks and Eddie shuts him up by shoving his tongue down his throat until they're both out of breath.

“Fuck, Rich, warn a guy before you start staying stuff like that, I nearly came just from listening to you.”

Richie smiles, smug. He doesn't have a lot of control on what he says usually, and if it can be a problem sometimes, in those kind of situations, it's definitely _not._ He keeps smiling when he brings down Eddie's pants and underwear, freeing his dick that's already leaking, relishes in the sounds he gets out of his boyfriend.

“Do you have lube?” Eddie asks, his voice way deeper than usual.

Richie just reaches for it in his nightstand's drawer, shoves it in Eddie's hands. He tries to ignore the anxious feeling that's rising inside him, because it's dumb, he shouldn't be scared, he wants it so fucking much, but the fear stays.

Eddie must feel it, though, so used to anxiety himself, because he stops himself to look at his boyfriend.

“We don't have to go all the way, you know, if you're not ready. Just tell me if you want me to stop and I'll stop okay? I promise I won't hurt you.”

Richie knows he's sincere from the tone of his voice and the concern in his dark eyes, and even if it's something so small, it does calm him a little, and he turns over on his stomach when Eddie asks him to. It can't be bad, he thinks, because why would people do it if it didn't feel good? And maybe it's not the idea of it hurting that's scary, it's more about the sheer vulnerability that hides behind the gesture, the amount of trust he need to have in Eddie, and the shame he desperately tries to push away. He buries his face in the pillows, because if he doesn't see anything maybe it'll be less embarrassing for him, but he still yelps in surprise when he feels Eddie's finger brushing against his entrance, warm and weird and good.

Eddie does keep his promise, though, and he's gentle and he asks Richie if he wants him to continue, because he's like that, he cares, and Richie just nods in the pillow, feeling his face reden by the minute.

He hears Eddie open the cap of the lube bottle, jerks slightly when he feels the cold substance on him.

“You're doing so good for me baby” Eddie says as he slowly pushes a finger inside, “And you're so beautiful and so fucking good, Rich, _fuck._ ”

He massages Richie's lower back with one hand as he opens him with the other, and Richie tries to stay as relaxed as possible when he feels Eddie's knuckles reach his ass. He moves his finger achingly slow, pushes as deep as he can, pulls out a little, until Richie is a whimpering mess. It's so weirdly good, the feeling, it's not like anything he's ever felt, it's burning and so fucking overwhelming.

“Do you want me to add another?”

Richie moans a wrecked _yes_ in the pillow.

“You like having my fingers in you, don't you? Feeling like I'm tearing you apart from inside?” Eddie asks and Richie gasps when he feels a second finger push inside him. He nods. “Say it out loud for me, baby, I wanna hear you say it...”

Richie's not even sure he still has the ability to talk, but he can't say no to the way Eddie asks, and he turns his head on the right, eyes still closed, as he tries to speak the words out loud.

“I like it”, he whimpers, “I like your fingers in me- _fuck!_ ”

Eddie's just brushed against his prostate, and he jerks his hips up as a reflex, unconsciously asking for more, tears prickling at the corner of his eyes. Eddie keeps on working him open, though, painfully hard himself, his chest flushed and his eyes glued to Richie's ass, lips parted as he watches the way his fingers get in and out of his boyfriend.

“You have no idea how hot you are, Rich”, he lets out in a breath.

And then suddenly Richie is empty, and he nearly scolds his boyfriend but stops in his tracks when he feel something bigger pushing against his hole. His words stay stuck in in throat as he takes in a raspy breath.

Eddie feels so fucking big inside him, so big and hot and Richie wants it all, even if it does hurt a little. It's more of a discomfort, though, he thinks, because he's fairly sure he wouldn't be that hard if it was actually painful. The feeling is so intense for a while that he sees nothing but white, and then Eddie's inside him all the way, and he starts seeing in hues of red again.

Everything is so overwhelming; the way Eddie grips his hips, the sound of his voice as he talks, his dick moving inside him, the way Richie's own dick is leaking on the bedsheets, the warmth of the room, the indecent sound of lube and skin on skin, the salty-sweet smell of sex, the colors that fill Richie's vision.

Eddie hits his prostate with every thrust of his hips, hard and deep.

“ _F-Fuck_ Eds I'm not gonna last long this feels so good”, Richie manages to say between two moans, and Eddie bends down so his mouth is brushing agaisnt the nape of his neck, his breath warm.

“It's okay baby you can come I want you to come for me, can you do that? I love you so fucking much I wanna see you fall apart, fuck, I'm not gonna last long either...”

It's what finally sets Richie off, and he comes without even touching his dick, his vision blurry with pleasure and tears, and Eddie has his own orgasm a few seconds later. Richie can feel his sperm filling him, hot and wet as he keeps spasming on the bed.

They both lie down for a while, breathless and extenuated, Eddie on his back and Richie on his stomach. They kiss softly, eyes open and shiny, smiles drawn on their lips.

“That was so fucking hot”, Richie whispers after a few minutes, finally starting to get the control of his mind back.

“Yeah, it was. I wish you could see yourself when I'm in you. I couldn't look at you too much because I thought I'd come on the spot”, Eddie chuckles. “I want you to fuck me even more now, though.”

“Fuck, Eds, you can't just _say_ that!” Richie whines, but he's smiling. And then, with a lower voice: “I love you.”

It's funny, how saying only three words can make you feel so good, and now that he knows the feeling, Richie is hooked. He doesn't think he'll ever stop saying it.

He's nearly asleep when he feels Eddie move next to him, sitting up.

“We should take a shower before we pass out” he says. “I feel, like, sticky.”

“...Yeah, me too. I've had your sperm come out of my ass and dry there. Also I think I'm stuck to the sheets.”

Eddie gags dramatically as he gets up and takes back his pants on the floor so he doesn't have to cross the living room naked. Richie does the same when he finally manages to get up, his body sore and definitely stickier than Eddie's.

They take a long shower together, and maybe, just maybe, Richie gets down on his knees in the middle of it, and blows Eddie under the stream of hot water.

*  
  


The following days go by quickly, between school and Eddie's practice and Richie's homework, but the routine is welcome.

As it turns out, Eddie has made himself home quickly at the Tozier residence, and Richie is happy his parents treat him like another son. He sees a lot more of Alex, too, and she seems to have softened his brother a bit, because he smiles a lot more, and they actually spend a lot of time together, now, sometimes alone, sometimes not.

It feels good.

Richie starts wearing short sleeves again at home, tries to get used to the feeling of the wind against his arms and not to think too much about the scars, even if he knows they're there, perfectly visible even from pretty far away. He paints a lot to keep his mind busy, in fact he paints everytime Eddie's not home.

It's as if he's scared he'll forget his face if he's not thinking about it all the time, so he does different portraits, some more abstract than the others, uses different colors, but still a lot of red. It's becoming his favourite. He doesn't smoke much anymore. He still lights a cigarette from time to time, but feels so guilty about it he almost immediately throws it away. It's not like it's a bad thing, anyways.

He does smoke a complete pack when he receives the email, though.

He wasn't expecting it; his painting has been part of the college's gallery for a few weeks, now, and even if he knows that some big names in the industry like to come by from time to time, it still came as a surprise.

Richie never receives any emails, with the exception of spam and like, ads from random stores he shopped at once that gave him a discount in exchange for some information about him. This one, though, this one was nothing like what he's used to.

_**From:** MACmtl@villedemontréal.qc.ca_

_**To:** [Toziertrash@gmail.com](mailto:Toziertrash@gmail.com) _

_Richard Tozier,_

_My name is Silvia Chiapetta, and I work with the Musée d'Art Contemporain de Montréal. We are currently looking for new artists to work with for next year's expositions, and I stumbled upon your art at your College's gallery._

_We have as a goal for the next five years to work more with emerging artists, as we want to really promote Modern Art in the city, and support the new generations in their creative ideas. It can be a really closed circle, and we want to work on opening it more, making it more accessible and enjoyable for everyone._

_I would like to meet you in order to discuss about your projects and your work, as your_ Eddie _piece was really interesting to look at. If possible, you can answer this email and tell me when you would be available for an eventual meeting so we can schedule something, perhaps in the next weeks._

_I am looking foward to working with you,_

_Silvia._

He reads it about five times, just to make sure he totally gets it, just to make sur it's somehow real, and then he cries.

He's not sure why he does, exactly, maybe because it's so suprising, so overwhelming, feels like a dream come true. Maybe it's because it's not something he ever thought could happen someday, being approached by the fucking MAC, of all museums, maybe it's because the idea they chose him seems so absurd, because did this woman even look at the other art pieces that are exposed in his college's gallery? He studies with some amazing artists, and yet, it's him they chose.

_Him._

He feels like shouting it from the rooftops. Scream _I'm the chosen one!!!!!_ or something like that, but something in the back of his mind tells him to wait, tells him to meet with Silvia before. Maybe it won't lead anywhere.

He answers the email quickly, tries not to sound to eager, re-reads his answer a couple times to make sure it sounds professional and to try and spot any spelling errors he might have let slip. He sends it fast as soon as he's satisfied, fearing he'll change his mind if he thinks about it too much. He knows how anxiety can be.

He pushes all of these thoughts at the back of his mind, and forgets about the email when he goes and pick up Eddie at his practice. He gets there a little early just so he can see him on ice.

He loves it, seeing Eddie speed around the ice rink wearing his tight little spandex suits and huge protective glasses. And he's so impressive, too, he goes so fucking fast he looks blurry, and when he takes his helmet off his hair always stands in the wildest directions, a little damp with sweat, his cheeks are pink and his chest rises fast.

He's so beautiful it hurts.

And then he sees Richie and he scowls, because as much as Richie loves seeing his boyfriend in action, said boyfriend absolutely hates it.

He gets off the ice with a frown, awkwardly walks in his skates on the rug to the bench. He starts removing them when Richie comes to sit next to him.

“Looking beautiful as always, Eddie, my love”, he grins.

“Dude, I hate you.”

“Come on! I think you look hot like this! Plus it's reassuring seeing you're actually here and not with some unknown lover with a bigger dick than me...”

“I do _not_ look hot. I look like, ridiculous. At most. Also literally everybody has a bigger dick than you, so that would give me a lot of choice.”

“Wow. Rude. I am. So fucking hurt right now.”

Eddie laughs at Richie's dumbstruck expression, winks as he gets out of the rink to change.

“Would it make you feel better if I said you have the biggest dick I've ever seen?” He asks smugly.

“Only if you're honest about it.”

“Oh, nevermind then.”

He exits the building with Richie theatrically gasping behind him, and his laugh is so bright and pure Richie melts.

They keep bickering on the whole way home, Eddie harrassing him about how he drives way too recklessly, Richie accelerating way over the speed limit just to piss him off.

Eddie nearly runs out of the car as soon as they get there, Richie follows him in the house laughing so hard he's holding his stomach.

It feels so domestic, all of it. Them driving home together and then helping with dinner, kissing softly everytime they meet in the kitchen, Richie at the stove and Eddie going to wash his hands franctically, their feet touching under the table, and then the hugs and Richie's weird dances in the living room downstairs while they blast old George Michael classics.

That night, Richie asks Eddie to model for him again, and he sketches his nude body with the faint sound of _Faith_ in the background. They talk through it, Eddie just lying on the bed, displayed only for Richie to see, both feeling warm and happy.

“I think I'm ready to start taking my medication again”, Eddie blurts out after a moment of silence. “Well, not _again_ since I never started it but you understand. I think I'm at peace with it.”

“You sure? That's great, Eds, I'm fucking proud of you.”

“Also I found a therapist. I have my first appointment tomorrow. I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier, I just... This is so new, you know. And fucking scary.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. But I promise it'll be worth it in the end. And I'm here to help you through it, you know? You can always talk to me”, Richie says, voice soft, the last words barely a whisper.

“I know. I just don't want to be a burden, or like, keep you from doing your own progress. I mean, you've got a lot of shit going on too, and I-”

“Eds” Richie interrupts with a stern look. “You have no fucking idea how much you actually helped me since I met you. You will _never_ be a burden, I promise- hey, look at me. Never, ok? I love you so much”, he adds, and his voice cracks.

He doesn't want to cry, not now at least, not when he's trying to be reassuring, but there's tears in his eyes threatening to flow, and he doesn't have the strenght to try and keep them there.

Richie doesn't like crying very much, like everybody, he supposes. Crying makes his head feel heavy and his throat ache, it's tyring, really, and he feels he spent way to much time crying already for someone his age. Still, he tears up easily, it's always been like that, even when he was a child and the world was still soft. He's used to it, now.

He climbs on the bed next to Eddie and curls up next to him, his head on his shoulder, arms around his waist. He has so much love to give and he doesn't know what to do with it. It's just pouring out of him in words and water and gestures.

Eddie kisses the top of his head, runs his fingers through his hair. He untangles the curled mess it is as he keeps talking with a low voice.

“You helped me a lot too, you know. I've had so much less panic attacks since I met you. I don't know how you do it but you always keep me, like, calm inside. I'm still anxious, you know, but I look at you and things are better. It's just, it's a lot, all of this, and I know you've come a long way but I'm still so scared I'll drag you down with my problems and you won't realize until it's too late.”

“You won't drag me down”, Richie whispers as he kisses the silky skin under him. “If you drag me anywhere, it's up, I'm telling you. And if you start going to therapy and taking medication you'll feel better so I'll feel better too. It's like, all connected. I wish I had you when I was going through my own shit. The least I can do is be there while you go through yours.”

“Okay. Thanks, Rich. It means a lot.”

“Anything for you, Eds.”

He keeps on kissing Eddie's shoulder as he shivers underneath his lips, muttering _I love you_ s against his skin.

“I'm so lucky I'm still alive and I get to be with you”, he lets out in a breath, watches as Eddie turns to him with wide, sparkly eyes. He has the sweetest smile.

“Yeah.” Eddie turns on his side so they're face to face, carresses his neck with one hand. “I'm lucky I get to be with you, too.”

Their lips meet halfway in the softest kiss. It's not as passionate as it sometimes is, this kiss has the color and smell of lilac, or at least that's what immediately pops in Richie's mind as it's happening, and inside of them countless flowers bloom, grow into the kiss they're sharing, all shades of purple and pink and white, and they try to hold on to that feeling as much as they can when it's over.

The next day, Richie paints a purple kiss and names it _Syringa Vulgaris._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there, there. like i said, a ton of fluff. it felt good writing it, though, i love these two. we don't see much of the losers or Richie's family, I promise, they'll be more present in the next chapters. this one was just for Eddie and Richie. And Georgie, because i love him. 
> 
> the next week should be less busy for me, so hopefully i'll get next chapter out a bit faster. don't forget to leave a comment! they always make me so happy <3
> 
> see you!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope y'all are ready for some family and friends fluff
> 
> trigger warnings for this chapter include: 
> 
> tw for explicit sexual content  
> tw for abusive relationships  
> tw for homophobic speech

Spring in Montreal is always really fucking welcome, but Eddie tries not to get his hopes up when temperatures get warmer at the beginning of March, as he knows it's only temporary, and snow falls on the city until April. It's not that he doesn't like winter, in fact he loves it very much, but there's something about the end of it, when snow and ice start to melt in brown sludge on the streets, garbage defrosts, and old dog poop start reappearing on the yellow grass that makes it depressing, and really, really ugly.

But when April comes, and the sun starts to shine brighter, it's like people remember the meaning of the word “joy” again. Eddie loves ditching his winter coat for something lighter, and he's always one of the first weirdos that start wearing shorts about halfway through the month. His mother would always tell him that it's too soon, that he'll catch a cold or something worse, maybe pneumonia, and Eddie would always answer that you can't catch a cold from wearing shorts, and he'd leave the house exhausted and pissed off after long talks that always ended in tears on Sonia's end.

This year, though, it's different.

Spring comes and it's like a new world emerges, a world where Eddie is free, where he doesn't hear his mother's voice crying behind him everytime he leaves the house. It feels unreal, and it kind of is, because even if his mom is not physically there with him, she's still lurking around at the back of his mind sometimes, and there are still days when she tries to take control again, when her voice becomes louder.

He used to try and ignore it but his therapist says it's not a good way to cope with negative emotions. Instead he has to face it, as hard as it can be, in order for it to go away. It's shitty, most of the time, and it makes him feel raw and vulnerable, because facing his emotions means he has to actually allow himself to feel them, but it's true that the feeling goes away quickly, and it's true that he feels liberated for the rest of the day.

Therapy is not as bad as he thought it would be. It's weird, at first, sitting in the small office, trying to tell a stranger about himself, but every week it gets a little better and feels more natural. Richie helps him through it too, just like he promised he would.

He's so fucking sweet and patient with him, Eddie wonders what he did in a past life that made him deserve this kind of treatment today. Not that he complains, but it's still so new, this happinness, he can't help but be scared it won't last. Richie reassures him everytime, though, tells him _no Eds I promise I won't stop loving you I promise I'll stay there with you_ kisses his forehead and smiles with his eyes, sparkles magnified by his huge glasses.

When there's no more snow on the sidewalks he starts running again, and it feels good. He tries to drag Richie with him once, but doesn't ever ask him again after that disaster. Richie puking from exhaustion after ten minutes of jogging was funny, obviously, but it was also terribly disgusting and he is not interested in it happening again.

He does make him eat more vegetables and drink more water, though, because what kind of nutritionist would he be if he didn't?

Eddie has his speed skating qualifications tomorrow, and then the actual competition will be in june. It would be lying if he said he wasn't anxious about it, but he's definitely less stressed out than he would have been if this had happened like, five months ago. He feels ready for it, right now; his body is in great shape, which, good, but for the first time in his life his _mind_ also feels kind of healthy and it's a better feeling than he thought it would be. He kind of wishes he had new skates, though, since the ones he has right now are old and worn out, but sports gear is so expensive and he doesn't have a job. Right now, the only money he gets is from scolarships and loans, so he can't afford to spend it on anything else than school stuff. Maybe he should start working part time, now that he's in a better place mentally, but he's not sure he's ready yet. So the ice skates wait.

He's started taking his medication a few weeks ago, after his first meeting with his therapist. He still feels uneasy sometimes, when he swallows them in the morning, flashbacks popping in his mind, ten-year-old Eddie swallowing a bunch of pills every morning and after lunch and before bed, ten-year-old Eddie relying on his inhaler way too much, ten-year-old Eddie thinking he's having an asthma attack when really, it's just his anxiety acting up. He has to talk himself through it, he has to say _this medication is not an illusion it really will help you,_ he has to close his eyes and shut his mind.

His doctor told him he wouldn't see the positive effects before a few months, so right now he's still only getting a bunch of side effects; headaches, nausea and dizzyness, but it's better than it was during the first week, so he takes that as a win.

They should be completely gone in a matter of weeks, now.

“Eddie, darling, did you want to do anything special for your birthday next week?”

Maggie Tozier is looking at him with her kind smile and soft eyes, her black hair pulled back in a bun, neat and shiny. She just came back from work, still dressed up with her high heels and her classy blazer, asks the question as she puts down her handbag on the kitchen island, next to Eddie's homework.

He lifts his head, starlted, feels his heart flutter for a few seconds.

Maggie has so much of a mother, and yet everytime she talks to him like one, Eddie is surprised. His own mother never asked him if he wanted to plan something for his birthday; even when he was a child, birthday parties were a strict no-no, full of children's germs and snot and bacteria, and cake was an unealthy food and gifts would make him a spoiled brat and he already had the best gift he could ever have, he a mom that loved him with all her heart.

At least, that's what she told him.

And then he got older and wanted to go out to celebrate, and the answer was still no, _no Eddie-bear I won't let you get black out drunk only god-knows-where with that Marsh girl and that jewish boy, besides you are so small and alchool will make you sick and you'll catch herpes because bars are dirty and they don't wash their glasses well enough_ , and Eddie was tired of those rants so he just let it go, had dinner with her in their poorly lit kitchen, went to bed early.

Now though, as Maggie looks at him, the concept feels so foreign that he doesn't even know if it's still something he wants.

“Well I- I don't know, I never really celebrated my birthday...”

“I could cook you a nice dinner and we could invite your friends over, if you want. Wentworth is an amazing baker, just tell him what kind of cake you'd like! Or if you prefer, we could do this with just the five of us.”

She smiles like it's the most natural thing to do, organize a birthday dinner for your son's boyfriend of the past few months. Eddie feels warm inside, and suddenly it's like he's twelve all over again, and he wants to invite his friends and have a sleepover and eat popcorn until they pass out. He has to experience it at least once, he thinks. Make up for all those times he missed.

“Yeah, I'd like that”, he says. “I'd like that a lot.”

“We could do it on saturday, yeah? That way if it ends late it won't be a problem for anybody. Is there anything you'd like to eat in particular?”

“No, anything is fine, really.”

It could be garbage, he thinks. They could eat literal garbage and it would still be better than any other birthday party he's had.

“Alright, then, I'll try to surprise you. Just tell me how much people you want to invite, as many as you want, really, and I'll go buy the groceries on wednesday.”

She plants a kiss on his hair as she leaves the kitchen, the sweet smell of her perfume lingering for a few moments.

Eddie is twenty-two, and he's going to celebrate his birthday for the first time.

He immediately writes to Stan and Bev to invite them.

_**Eddie** _

_birthday dinner @ tozier house on saturday, who's in?_

_**Beverly** _

_me me memememeee!!!!_

_wow i'm so excited! only with u and Richie?_

_oh my god i cant believe we get to do this for the first time!!_

_**Eddie** _

_actually, no, with his family_

_his mom offered_

_i can't believe it either_

_**Stanley** _

_I like this woman a lot._

_Also, of course I'll be there._

_**Beverly** _

_i like her a lot too!_

_she seems like she takes good care of u_

_in like, a motherly fashion_

_do u want us to bring something?_

_oh my god, i'll bring party hats and candy necklaces_

_**Stanley** _

_I can bring Cards Against Humanity._

_**Eddie** _

_i'm not sure its a good game to play with like_

_my boyfriend's parents lol_

_**Stanley** _

_Are you kidding? It's the best game to play with like, your boyfriend's parents._

_**Eddie** _

_please stop mocking me with your capital letters and your punctuation_

_but ok, bring it i guess_

_i'll invite ben and bill and mike too so we can play with them_

_i love you guys_

_i'm actually so fucking happy atm_

_**Stanley** _

_I'm happy too._

_I love you so much Eddie._

_**Beverly** _

_i love you too!!_

_< 3_

_can't wait until saturday_

_it's gonna be the best day of the year_

If he's completely honest, Eddie can't wait either.

*

The day of his speed skating qualifications, Eddie wakes up nervous and sweaty. Next to him, Richie is still asleep, his face soft and pressed in his pillow, the dim light of the morning slowly sharpening his outline. He looks so peaceful, like that, and for a brief moment Eddie calms down, a smile on his lips. It doesn't last long, sadly, and soon enough he's back to being a anxious mess, because what if he fails, and what if he can't even try to win that scholarship? He's always been a sore loser, and he knows just how disappointed in himself he'll be if he fails.

He tries to get up without waking Richie, carefully lifting the covers so he can get out of bed, but as soon as he tries to reach for the pajamas' pants he took off last night, the matress shifts behind him. As quiet as Eddie tries to be, Richie always ends up opening his eyes.

“Eds? It's super early, what are you doing?” He asks with a voice thick from sleep.

“I couldn't sleep anymore. I'm too stressed out. Was thinking I might go for a run or something.”

“Ew, why would you want to run at five in the morning?”

“I don't know. Man, I hate being up this early, I don't get how you do it everyday.”

“You can thank my ADHD for that. But hear me out: what if, instead of going out to run, you stayed in bed and cuddled with me instead? Way better alternative. Also healthier.”

“How the fuck is it healthier?”

“Because your body needs its rest. Come on,” Richie pleads, opening his arms, “I promise it'll help you feel better.”

It's a though thing, saying no to Richie when he looks at him with his big, shiny puppy eyes and that hopeful gleam on his face. It should be illegal being this pretty.

Eddie doesn't fight, though. He doesn't have the energy to try, and if he's completely honest, he's not sure he even wants to either. Cuddling with Richie sounds better than any other thing in the world right now.

He finds his way back under the covers quickly, curls up against his boyfriend's warm skin. Breathes in. Breathes out. Repeats.

He tries to focus on the steady sound of Richie's heartbeat against his ear, on the way his fingers slowly carress his left arm. Tries not to think about what's coming this afternoon just yet.

Richie's voice breaks the silence after a few minutes. “You know, I'm not worried”, he says. “I'm not worried because I know you have it in you. You'll win this, and then you'll win the actual competition. I won't let you argue on this.”

“But you can't be sure of it, though. You can't be sure what you're saying is true.”

“I _just_ said I won't let you argue on this. There's no point in trying, Eds-spagheds. You can't win this. The qualifications, though, that's another thing. You'll win. ”

Even if neither of them goes back to sleep that morning, Eddie does feel calmer. It's a good thing, having someone to ground you whenyour mind is spiraling. Stan usually does that job but he's not always available, and he's not always close by. Beverly and him offered to come see him perform today, but Eddie refused. He needs to do this alone.

That's why he also refused that Richie come see him as well, and only accepted his offer to drive him to the rink. He kisses him goodbye before heading to Mike's to get some work done, says he'll come pick him up when it's over.

“You're the best”, he says as Eddie closes the car's door behind him. “It's gonna be over soon and then tomorrow it's your birthday dinner and it's gonna be awesome. I love you so much.”

Eddie smiles.

“I love you so much, too.”

It still feels somewhat unreal to say it out loud and to hear it from Richie's mouth, and everytime Eddie's heart flutters and he gets weak in the knees.

Inside the rink, things move quickly. Eddie gives his name at the entrance, gets changed and soon finds himself waiting on the bench, eyes glued to the clock as three ice skaters race on the ice. He's faster than that, he knows it. Everything should be just fine.

He repeats these words in a loop in his head, doesn't stop until he's completing his final lap, out of breath but third on the leaderboard.

He gets a few _congratulations_ from other participants, collapses on the bench, all pressure finally off of his shoulders. He's in. He doesn't have to wait to hear it officially; he knows he's in. He still stays until the end, though, unable to move from his current position, still too stoked about the reality of this.

After being so fast on ice, everything feels so slow, like seconds stretch into minutes and minutes stretch into hours. Eddie likes it, because the when he gets back home and Richie kisses him, it feels like it goes on for days.

*

As it turns out, saturday does comes quickly and Eddie is more and more restless with each passing hour. It's the good kind of nervosity, though, the kind where you're really excited and you can't sit without moving a leg or something. Richie told him he's prepared a surprise, too, and he looks even more excited than him. He's been buzzing with energy all morning, refusing to let Eddie help him with anything.

“Just sit and relax, Eds-spagheds! It's your birthday!”

“My birthday isn't until tomorrow, technically, so I should have the permission to help today”, Eddie whines, but Richie his having none of it.

“Ok but we're celebrating today so I want you to relax today _and_ tomorrow because you're extra-special and you deserve extra rest!”

“You're an annoying fucking garbage can, you know that? I hate you.”

“Awww, I love you too, baby!”

Eddie rolls his eyes but smiles nonetheless. It's hard to be mad around Richie, even when he tries.

They're gonna be quite a lot, tonight. Bill is bringing Georgie with him, Alex and Liam will be there as well. Eddie has never had this many friends. It feels good, though. All of them have been texting him all day about what they should bring and how excited they were. It's quite overwhelming.

Maggie and Wentworth never complain that it's too much, in fact they both seem really happy with the way things are going, and Wentworth has been baking all day.

Around four, they get dressed up, not chic, per se, but clean, and cute. Richie wears the pink, obnoxious shirt he loves so much, the one with a bunch of rainbow pineapples drawn all over it. He doesn't wear it open over a t-shirt, though, likehe usually does; he buttons it up, and he doesn't try to hide his forearms with long sleeves. It makes Eddie really happy. He pairs it with pale blue jeans and orange nail polish, and he looks _hot._

“Mhh, I wanna climb you like a tree”, Eddie says as soon as he sees him. “You're beautiful. Handsome. Hot stuff. Yum.”

“Damn, Eds, if you keep it like that I won't make it out of the bedroom and I'm gonna jump your bones right here against the wall”, Richie jokes, but the pink blush on his cheeks betrays him. He pulls Eddie to him in a deep kiss and when they break off, his eyes shine behind his thick glasses. “You look hot too, you know. Though if I'm being completely honest you'd look hotter if you were naked. I could see those thick thighs of yours.”

He grips Eddie's thighs with both hands and squeezes hard, and it nearly hurts, but Eddie doesn't mind, in fact, he presses his body harder against Richie's, grinding their hips together in one swift motion. They both groan in each other's mouth, feeling the heat starting to rise in their abdomen. Eddie can feel Richie's hard-on on his leg, and he's starting to get pretty hard himself when they hear the distant sound of the doorbell, and then voices from upstairs.

“Fuck, cockblocked by my own friends”, Richie mutters. “I can't believe.”

“Don't be too sad. You'll get to fuck me later, I promise.”

Eddie winks as he runs upstairs, his erection hidden in his underwear's elastic, leaving Richie very aroused and very frustrated in their bedroom.

Of course, Stanley is the first one to arrive, exactly sixteen minutes early, as always. He hasn't cut his hair in a while, Eddie realizes, and it's brushing on his shoulders, just a little shorter than Richie's. It suits him.

Bill gets there not long after with Georgie, who automatically runs towards Richie.

“I t-think he likes him more than me”, Bill jokes while looking at them. “Thanks for letting me bring him, b-by the way. He was super excited.”

They get their things downstairs, where Richie insisted they all have a sleepover, and soon enough everybody is there, talking and laughing and hugging Eddie and it feels so good, all of this love and attention.

He loves the noise. He loves the way his and Richie's friends get together like they've always known each other, he loves how toughtful they are, when they tell him how happy they are to be there, he loves their smiles and their jokes and everything about them.

He takes lots of pictures. Liam and Richie with _Frozen_ birthday hats, Beverly and Ben very obviously flirting, a video of Georgie, Alex and Bill singing _Let it go,_ Mike and Stanley laughing, then selfies with everyone, Richie and Bev kissing both his cheeks, Ben looking as sweet as ever. He wants to be sure to remember this moment in a few years, this day where he felt complete and happy. He hopes it's the first of many.

Maggie makes chicken parmigiana for dinner and it's as delicious as everything else she cooks. It reminds Eddie of the daydreams he'd have as a kid about sharing dinner with his mother – a real dinner, not the plain chicken-brocoli-brown rice they had each night. Sonia would never let him anything else; apparently red meat gave cancer and fish contained plastic and carrots had dye in them. He spent most of his life eating the same three ingredients, until he decided he'll study nutrition to prove his mother wrong about her beliefs. He learned a lot but she wasn't interested in hearing about it. She wasn't interested in hearing about anything.

Richie is beaming next to him, so much one could believe it's actually _his_ birthday and not Eddie's. He's louder than ever and he never stops talking, but he makes Stan laugh, which is a rare sight, and everybody is used to it by now. Liam throws him green peas and he tries to catch them in his mouth.

Everything feels stupidly soft.

“I wanna make a toast!” Richie shouts when they're done eating. He stands up abruptly, hitting a knife on the side of his glass until Wentworth takes it away from him. “I wanna make a toast in honor of my little Eds Spagheds because he's an old fart now and I love him very much.”

“Buckle up, folks, Richie's toasts are always at least thirty minutes long”, Mike mumbles and everybody laughs. Richie gives him the finger and turns to Eddie, his grin gradually getting replaced by a much softer smile.

“I'm gonna try and do this one short and sweet since _some people_ seem to think I talk too much”, he starts. “Eds, if you had told me a few years ago that at nineteen I would fall for with a twenty-two year old speed-skater with legs to die for and the cutest-slash-hottest face in the world, I would have totally believed you. What I would not have believed, though, would have been the fact that this same person would actually like me back, because, like, have you seen yourself? But it happened and I pinch myself every fucking day to make sure all of this is real. So far it looks like it is. Anyways the thing is I think I speak for everyone when I say that we are so fucking proud of you.

You're the kid who grew up bullied and manipulated into thinking you were weak, but look at you now. You're like the human equivalent of Magikarp's evolution! You face your fears and you're so brave and strong and confident, and it's a privilege to get to be around you. It's a privilege to look at your face and talk to you and make you laugh. You inspire me to get better everyday, and on those days where I feel like dying I just have to think about you to make the feeling go away. It makes me realize how lucky I am to be alive and live at the same time as you. I love you so, so much and I want to shout it to the world like if I had the money I'd pay to have billboards that say _I love Eddie-spaghetti_ all around town. So, yeah. I'm proud of you and I love you. Happy birthday, Eds.”

There's a moment of silence as Richie sits, like people are still taking in what he just said, and then Stan mumbles something that sounds like _that wasn't a toast but ok,_ and they hear Ben sniffle and turn to him only to see him wipe a tear from his cheek quickly. Beverly goes _awwwwwww_ and the others follow, even Eddie, because Ben is soft and it's cute, and also if the attention's on Ben people won't notice the wetness in Eddie's eyes.

“I love you too, you know”, he whispers in Richie's ear as they're hugging, then kisses his lips delicately when they part. “Thank you for everything.”

They eat Wentworth's cake, something with chocolate and whipped cream and strawberries, and it's so fucking good everybody gets a second piece, even Eddie, who's not usually one for dessert. He tries to help Maggie with cleaning the table but she insists he stays right where he is, and her tone leaves no place for arguing.

So Eddie stays sitting, lets Richie plant kisses on his cheeks and on the side of his forehead, smear chocolate in his face, exchanges happy looks with Stan and Beverly. Maggie comes back from the kitchen with a big box in her hands, wrapped in a messy, Richie way, with lots of ribbons and decorations on top. She places it in front of Eddie, smiling mysteriously when he looks up to her, taken aback.

He wasn't expecting a gift, he kind of assumed the dinner itself was the gift, and he was very happy with that. But now, having something to unwrap, that just adds to his excitement, and he lifts an eager gaze to Richie, hands itching to tear apart the wrapping paper already.

“It's from all of us”, Richie says, gesturing at the people sitting around the table. “We all pitched in, even mom and dad. So you have just one gift, but it's a cool one.”

Eddie unties the ribbons anxiously, his heart threatening to burst out of his chest. When he gets a good look at the box, though, he immediately recognizes it.

“Are you fucki-”

“Just open the fucking box, Eddie”, Stanley interrupts him with a cocky smile.

“Alright, I was getting to it- what the fuck.”

He's not often at lost for words, but when he finds himself in front of a gift of such high value, Eddie forgets how to talk. He doesn't even dare to touch them, what if he stains them? Or what if they crumble under his touch? He looks, though. The bright red boots and the golden blades, he's looked at those fucking ice skates for _months,_ thinking maybe if he gets the scholarship he'd buy them, because his own are old and worn out, but he would never have expected to get them as a gift.

For free.

“These are the ones you wanted, yeah?” Richie asks, a bit concerned at his boyfriend's silence.

Eddie nods.

“Y-yeah, these are the ones I wanted but what the _fuck_ guys, they are literaly hundreds of dollars!”

“Yeah, that's why we all pooled our money!”

“Even then it's like... a lot. It's a lot. I c-”

“Hey, just say thank you and accept the gift, dum-dum” Beverly cuts in. “You can wear them at your competition in june. I know how old the ones you have are.”

It's true, they are really fucking old, in fact, they're the only pair he's ever bought, back when he was fifteen. Sadly for him that's also when he stopped growing so they still fit, but after so much years of being used, they are falling apart.

Eddie takes a deep breath, hopes not to cry.

Cries nonetheless.

The first persons he thanks are Maggie and Wentworth Tozier, not because he thinks they gave more money for the gift, but because at that precious moments he feels so much like they're his parents, and he just wants to keep feeling that energy from them for a bit longer.

Maggie wraps him in a warm hug, kisses both his cheeks and then his forehead. Then he turns to Wentworth and it's as if he heard his thoughts, it's as if he knows, somehow, what Eddie wishes. He hugs him in that manly, fatherly kind of way, the way Eddie's own dad used to.

“I'm really happy you like them, son”, he says with a smile, and Eddie starts crying again.

This ends in a giant group hug around him, everyone snuggling against each other, saying _I love you_ and _Happy birthday_ and _You're welcome, Eds,_ as he just thanks them over and over again.

They eat popcorn and watch movies downstairs. Sing along to _High School Musical_ songs. Eddie braids Richie's hair half sitting on Beverly's lap, who's joking around with Ben while Georgie curls up against Stan. They're all kind of mingled together at one point, and Alex draws penises all over Bill's face while he's sleeping. They doze off one by one, cuddle together on the mattresses, and when Eddie closes his eyes that night, he thinks he's never been this happy.

*

Everybody leaves in the early afternoon on Sunday, with hugs and happy birthdays and warm smiles. It's a rainy day, outside, and Eddie is pretty tired so he decides to skip practice to spend time with Richie.

He poses lazily as his boyfriend draws a few sketches, the top part of his hair tied up with his favourite orange scrunchie. It matches with his nails, which, cute.

“How do you not get tired of drawing me?” He asks, switching positions on the bed to get on his back.

“I don't think I can get tired of that. You're so fucking beautiful, Eds.”

“You're such a fucking sap. Come here, I wanna make out”.

He doesn't have to ask Richie twice. As soon as he opens his arms in an invitation, Richie jumps on the bed and plants dozens of quick kisses on his face and neck.

“I've been waiting for you to say that since yesterday”, he murmurs in Eddie's ear. “Just ask me anything and I'll do it”, he adds. “It's your birthday and I want to make you feel good.”

He bites the soft skin at the base of Eddie's neck and sucks a deep pink spot, and another at its right. He's straddling Eddie, sitting just below his hips, hunched over so he can keep their bodies pressed together as much as possible.

Eddie loves it, feeling his desire and his passion like that, he loves feeling so _wanted,_ it's exhilirating, really, and he can see stars when he closes his eyes. He pants a little as his boyfriend lowers his kisses to his upper chest, pressing his stomach against Eddie's erection at the same time. It took him literal _seconds_ to get hard. He's pretty sure that's a new record.

They're not wearing much; they took a shower earlier, when their friends left, and Eddie just put on some underwear, whereas Richie is wearing his usual stitch pajamas. The clothing itself is not as sexy as the fact that there's barely nothing between them.

“Just do whatever you want, Rich. Wreck me”, he says, voice low.

Richie's face at those words flushes a deep shade of red and he lifts up his head to look at Eddie, his lips parted and eyes wide behind his glasses.

“What?” He asks, just to make sure he heard right.

“I said _wreck me,_ you deaf fucking corkscrew. You heard the first time.”

“Right.” He pauses for a moment, hesitating. “Can I eat you out? Iwanna try it.”

“Jesus fucking christ, you're jumping right in buisness! But- yeah, ok. You gotta warm me up first, though.”

Richie smiles widely, gets back up to capture Eddie's lips with his. They stay like that, Richie on top of him, for a while, just exploring each other's mouth, licking their way in, slowly grinding their hips together. Eddie groans quietly when he feels their erection crush together, thrusts his hips up a bit more in reflex.

“Fuck, Eds, don't do that if you want me to make it to the actual fucking”, Richie whines, and Eddie snorts.

“You're nineteen. I'm pretty sure even if you came now you'd be ready for round two in under ten minutes.” Richie shrugs. _Yeah, maybe._ “Just let got. I won't hold back either, if it makes you feel better. We have all the time in the world.”

Richie listens, and he lets go. They keep grinding against each other like teenagers but Eddie couldn't care less because it feels so good and hot and everything he wants. They fumble with their clothing, tossing it in a corner of the room, muffling the sounds that escape them in their kisses.

Richie leaves a trail of hickeys on Eddie's chest, licking and biting his way down. He's grasping his hips with strong hands, keeping him in place, and then it's the inner thighs he gives all his attention to, smiling a bit more each time he makes Eddie gasp involuntarily.

“You're so pretty like this I wanna eat you whole” he mutters, nose against his skin.

“Why don't you start with my dick, then?”

He raises an eyebrow at Eddie's comeback but he doesn't say a word, instead keeping his mouth busy elsewhere. He places a few kisses on the lenght of Eddie's cock, and then on the tip. He pauses there, his lips still touching the soft skin, and looks up to Eddie.

The vision is so freaking erotic that Eddie nearly comes on the spot. He thinks about what Richie would look like with his sperm all over his face, on his glasses and in his mouth, and the thought alone is enough to make him moan Richie's name, low and demanding, as he runs a hand in his hair. He tugs gently at the dark curls, and Richie seems to get the cue because he takes him whole in his mouth, his nose brushing in Eddie's trimmed hair.

It's so surprising and so _much_ that Eddie lets out a pathetic, loud whine as his grip on Richie's hair grows tighter.

Richie has obviously been working on his gag reflex, because he's never been able to go that far and swallow his entire dick in his mouth. Not that Eddie is complaining about it, though. He tries to stay still but his whole body is so hot and needy and it takes him everything he has to delay his orgasm for a few minutes. He's going to enjoy the hell out of this blowjob.

But then Richie places his hand on Eddie's still in his hair, and presses on it, as if asking him to take control, and he doesn't need to ask twice. There's something about Richie giving him the permission to take control, maybe it's the amount of trust he has in him, but it really does it for Eddie.

He starts moving his hips slowly at first, careful, but then Richie moans, and Eddie's grip in his hair gets tighter.

He lets Eddie fuck his mouth hard and fast, moaning around his cock a little louder at every thrust, eyes closed. He keeps at it for a few minutes until he has to take a break to breathe, and looks at Eddie through his thick, dark lashes, his pupils blown wide with desire.

“I want you to come on my face”, he says with a raspy voice as he wipes his chin. “I want you to come on my face and then I want to eat you out and then I want to fuck you.”

“And where do you come in all of this?” Eddie asks with the same tone.

“Whenever convenient.” He grins.

Eddie nods, throat to tight to say anything else, lets his eyes roll back in his head as Richie sucks down on his cock again. It takes about thirty seconds before he has to push Richie off of him, and when his boyfriend looks up to him, a string of saliva still connecting his lips to Eddie's dick, the whole world goes white around them.

It's as pretty as Eddie thought it would be, Richie painted in his orgasm like that. He takes off his glasses and sets them aside as he slowly gets back up to Eddie, a slight smile on his lips.

His cheeks are bright red and he's still painfully hard, Eddie notices, and he spasms as an idea pops in his mind. He wipes off his cum off Richie's face with a finger and reaches behind him slowly, his left hand stroking his dick as he's doing so.

“Eds...” Richie whispers, and then “ _Fuck,_ who would've thought you were so kinky”, as Eddie slides a finger inside him.

“I know you didn't”, Eddie grins as he pushes his finger deeper inside Richie. It only takes a second one for Richie to come with a deep moan, collapsing down on Eddie as his body spasms its way through it.

Eddie is already half-hard again, but he gives Richie a bit of time to collect himself, still shivering from his orgasm. They make out lazily on the bed, legs tangled and bodies sticking together. It feels so good, having Richie for him like that, smiling and unashamed, and Eddie can't help but feel proud of him. He's come a long way since their first steamy kiss in Bev's bathroom on her birthday, where Richie wouldn't let him see, let alone touch him.

And now here they are, very naked in the light of the day, Richie's scars exposed for Eddie to see, and he doesn't even seem to mind.

Eddie's stomach flutters at the tought that Richie trusts him as much, that he's comfortable enough around him to fully enjoy himself. He lets a hand run on his back, ligthly touching his spine with a finger. He laughs when Richie shivers under the touch but he keeps on doing it, tracing patterns in the pale, freckled skin.

“You're so fucking pale”, he murmurs in Richie's hair, more for himself than anything. “I love it.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, I mean, you look like a cute, dorky vampire, you know. White, glowly skin, red lips and dark hair, all that jazz.”

“You forgot to say I sparkle in the sunlight and I only drink blood from animals”, Richie adds with a grin, and Eddie makes a show out of rolling his eyes.

“Alright, I'm done with you. Eat my entire ass, Tozier.”

“That's what I've been planning to do since the beginning of the day but you just _had_ to come mid blow-job, didn't you?”

“Wow. Fuck you.”

“I believe what you are trying to say is fuck _me,_ Eds.”

“Yeah, ok, I'll give you this. It's my birthday, fuck me.”

They both giggle as they start kissing again, this time with a little bit more fever, and after a couple minutes they're both ready to go again, like the hormonal young adults they are. They're both more sensitive, though, and the softest touches feel like electricity coursing through their veins. Richie flips Eddie on his stomach and lifts his ass as he sits on his calves behind him.

Eddie's never been one to really enjoy rimming before; it felt embarrassing, and gross, and a little wrong, too, but when it's Richie and Richie's tongue, it's a whole different story. It's still embarrassing, gross and a little wrong, but somehow all these things make it all the more exciting, and Richie does know how to make him fall apart.

The sounds that come from behind him are downright pornographic, Richie licking and pressing his tongue inside him with a moan, leaving bite marks at the back of his thighs, and for a moment Eddie forgets how fucking vulnerable he feels like that, displayed in front of Richie with his face pressing into the pillow, and he just focuses on the sensations, the heat radiating from him, the wet noises that reach his ears. He stiffles a whimper into the pillow as Richie presses his tongue deeper, overwhelmed by everything he's feeling.

“F-fuck, Rich, _please,_ want you”, he cries incoherently as Richie teases him with a finger. He's so relaxed and open already, he feels like he could take Richie in right now.

“What do you want, baby?” Richie presses his finger in, only to take it out half a second after. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want to feel you inside, want you to fuck me, Rich, please...” Eddie feels so desperate for it he could beg if Richie asked him to. Thankfully for him, though, his boyfriend doesn't torture him for long and he presses a second finger alongside the first.

“Fuck, you're so open for me, aren't you? Bet with a little practice you could take a lot more than some fingers”, he whispers as he reaches for his nightstand with his free hand. Eddie hears the cap of the bottle open, and then he's empty. He almost whines but the fingers are quickly replaced with something else, something he really wants. “I love it so much when you're ready for me like that, with your pretty little ass up, fuck, I love you so much, Eds, _fuck_ ” Richie groans as he slowly starts to puch inside.

Eddie has been fucked quite a few times in his life, but as Richie bottoms out, he thinks that no one else has ever compared to him, as much experience as they could have. It's like they were made for each other, fitting perfectly together. Richie moves inside him slowly at first so Eddie is fully at ease, but it doesn't take long for Eddie to push back against his hips at each thrust, groaning his name and some _harder_ s here and there.

And Richie listens, fucks him harder and faster, until they are both panting out breathless words, skin on skin on skin, the sound of their hips clapping together buzzing in their ears.

“Rich, fuck, keep going, so fucking good- _oh, fuck!_ ”

Eyes blown wide while Richie jerks him off, Eddie comes all over the sheets, the side of his face pressed into the pillow. Richie follows seconds after, fills Eddie up with his orgasm as a loud moan escapes him.

At that point, they don't even care someone might hear them.

They both collapse on the bed again, Eddie still laying on his stomach, Richie rolling on his side. They take a moment to catch their breath before exchanging a few spent kisses, their cheeks flushed red. Eddie backs off quickly, though, when he remembers exactly _where_ Richie's mouth was only minutes earlier.

“Dude! Ew! Ass to mouth is not happening, nuh-huh.”

Richie snorts and tries to kiss him again, grinning widely.

“You've done some way more freaky shit than that, Kaspbrak, don't try and pretend to be so disgusted”, he laughs, and Eddie tries to hold back his smile the best he can.

“I don't know anything about that 'freaky shit' you're talking about. That sounds so unlike me.”

“Right, right... Remember the first time you sucked my dick when you made me swallow my own cum? That was like, very fucking hot but also very fucking suprising.”

“Yeah, it was hot as fuck. You just, like, swallowed it without complaining. So good.” He brushes a strand of hair of Richie's face, not holding back his smile anymore.

“Like I'd ever complain about you being kinky! You could do anything and I'd probably be on board with it.I love you so much.”

“I'm planning on it. I'll spit your cum somewhere else next time.” He winks, delighted at the blush he gets from Richie.

“W-Where?”

“You'll see. It won't be as surprising if you already know.”

A pause, an then.

“I love you too, Rich.”

*

Eddie tries on his new ice skates at his next practice, and boy do they make a difference in the way he glides on ice. It's amazing, and he makes sure to write to his friends to thank them again. The actual competition is in less than two months and he can feel the anxiety starting to build up inside him already. He tries to remember what his therapist told him; it's useless worrying about the future when we have absolutely no control on it. He's already doing what he can, meaning practicing, but what happens the day of the competition is unpredictable.

As terrifying as it sounds, he tries to see it in a more positive light.

He starts up a nutrition blog where he debunks common myths and shares advice and recipes and promotes a healthy lifestyle as a school project. It gets more attention than he thought it would, but it's a good thing, and he's already planning next month's articles.

Richie spends a lot of time at Mike's place to paint, because Mike made him a little studio in one of the bedroom and apparently, the lighting is way better there. Eddie doesn't complain, even though he misses his boyfriend sometimes, and he rarely gets to see his work. Richie seems really happy, and that's all that matters.

He gets a call from the hospital at the end of May. He's surprised when he sees the number pop up on his phone screen because he remembers very well telling the doctors to remove his name and number from his mother's file, precisely because he did not want them to give him any updates on her situation.

When he picks up, though, it's not a doctor or a nurse that talks. Eddie would recognize that voice anywhere.

“ _Eddie-bear?_ ”

The world crumbles around him. He hangs up immediately. Gets out of the house to go breathe the outside air. Everything suddenly feels unreal, warped in some kind of way, the sounds of the city are distant, like he's already miles away from there. But he's not.

It's when he feels Liam's hand on his shoulder that Eddie realizes he's not breathing.

“Eddie, is everything alri- oh shit what's up?”

Liam must see his distress because in a matter of half a second his eyes go from happy to really fucking concerned. Eddie's phone buzzes in his hand again and it's too much, way too much, so he just throws it as far as he can, and hopefully it'll get destroyed and he won't get any other calls. It lands on the pool deck a few meters away from him, and Eddie can see its screen turn black from the shock. Somehow, though, this is not enough to make him breathe again, and as he tries to inhale, nothing gets past his closed throat.

“Eddie, man, you gotta breathe you're hyperventilating, so just, uh, inhale and exhale on my count, right? One, two, three, four-”

Liam's words, though a little more panicky, remind him of Stan's, and the way he always knows what to do when Eddie is having a panic attack. He wishes he were there.

He tries his best to follow Liam's count, though, to stay achored in his reality.

_I see trees and grass and a wood fence and Liam's face and his dark hair and I see the sky behind him and a bird flying out of that tree and I feel the wind on my face and Liam's hand on my shoulder and the way my muscles are all tense and I smell the outside air and the spring and my shampoo and I hear Liam's voice he's talking to me he's talking to me_

“There you go, that's better, keep breathing, okay?”

It's a little bit awkward, this situation, but Eddie knows that Liam is not used to that, he knows he's doing his best to make him feel better.

Slowly, his world comes back in its place, his vision get clearer. He glances at his phone, still face up on the deck.

“Do you want me to call Richie?” Liam asks, and it's kind of cute, how concerned he his.

“No, he's busy painting, I don't want to bother him.”

“I'm pretty sure you could never bother him, but hey, it's your decision.” He shrugs. “Do you... want to talk about it?”

_No._

Yes.

“I, eh...Got a call. From my mom.”

It takes Liam a few seconds to process the information. It's like he's trying to figure out how a dead person could call him, and then his eyes widen almost comically when it occurs to him that Eddie's mother is _not_ dead, even if they all acted like she was.

Somehow it was better that way.

“Fuck. Okay, I can get why you would freak out at that. What did she say?”

“Nothing. I just heard her voice and I hung up. It feels like a nightmare, honestly”, Eddie sighs, dropping his face in his hands. “Like, everything was going just fine but of course she has to miraculously heal and fucking call me like it's the most natural thing. I hate this.”

“It is for her, though. Like, I know you're over it and all, but she wasn't aware while it happened. It's normal she'd call you. She's probably, like, super worried.”

“She's always worried. Wouldn't be much different than usual.” He runs a hand through his hair, closing his eyes for a while. “I just don't know what to do about it. Fuck. I know the 'right' thing would be to go see her but at the same time it's the thing I literally want the least in the entire fucking world right now.”

“Yeah, I mean, it's normal. But you don't have to go alone, I mean, you have lots of friends that could go with you. Even me. And you don't have to go right now either. I don't know a lot about your relationship with her, but I think you both need closure. Like, real closure. I mean, it's fine if you don't want to see her ever again, but maybe you just need to... actually tell her? While she can listen. It will eat you alive if you never do it. And if you want to try to like, start fresh or something, you still need closure on what happened. You don't get out of shit like that unharmed.”

It's frustrating having to listen to other people being right, espacially when you want them not to be.

“Alright, mister therapist, why aren't you studying psychology again?”

Liam snorts. “Dude, I study music, it's pretty much the same thing.”

They chuckle softly, both still sitting on the porch, hypnotized by the shine of the sun reflecting on the pool's water.

“I know you're right”, Eddie lets out finally. “And it's fucking infuriating.”

“Why?”

“Because you're like, a stupid music douchebag! You're supposed to act all douchey and say _bro thats like mad crazy_ , you know, like you always do!”

Liam bursts out laughing, and his laugh is loud and less high-pitched than Richie's, but it's a beautiful sound nonetheless. For a while, it makes Eddie forget about the rest.

“Man, I forgot how mean you actually were. I can't believe this is how you see me.”

“Are you kidding? You said those exact words this very morning when you saw me slice up a banana on my peanut butter toasts!”

“Yeah, cause it's like, _mad crazy, bro._ ”

This time they both giggle like crazy. Mad crazy.

Eddie doesn't spend a lot of time alone with Liam, in fact, he never spends time alone with Liam except for when they're at the gym, but they don't go there to talk. Apart from that, they're always either with Richie or Alex or both, and if Eddie found him hard to read at first, he now quite enjoys his company. He's funny and he never gets mad about Eddie's mean comments, in fact, he's able to laugh at himself, which is a very important personality trait to have if one wants to be friend with Eddie.

They talk for a while. Sonia Kaspbrak can wait.

Maggie gets home about an hour later to find them both looking at old pictures of Richie and laughing their ass off.

“What are you laughing at?” she asks, and then she spots the picture of a seven year old Richie jumping naked on a trampoline. “You know it's you on that picture, Liam, right? You tore your scrotum by trying to land in a split”, she giggles and Liam turns bright red.

“What the _fuck_ I have no memory of that! You're lying.”

“I wish I was. We had to spend the night in the ER. You wouldn't stop crying. You never wondered why your right testicle was more sensitive than the left?”

Eddie shrieks in laugher, tears rolling down on his cheeks. How he wishes Richie was here.

“No, I never wondered about it, what the fuck, mom?” Liam screams, his face getting a darker shade of red by the minute. He takes a deep breath before he talks again. “Tell me you're lying.”

“I'm not!” Maggie lifts her hands in innocence, though she's obviously trying to hold back her own giggles. “You just ask you father when he comes back home. It was a whole thing.”

“I am _not_ asking him about my fucking scrotum! Eddie, I swear to god if you keep laughing I'll go to the dog park, take a dog poop in the trash can, bring it back here and smear it in your face. I'm not even joking.”

“Fine. Just try not to hurt your testies when you lunge at me.”

Eddie has the very good idea to run away as he talks.

*

Richie ends up calling Liam as his texts to Eddie keep going unanswered. That's how Eddie learns that he'll come home late tonight. He doesn't say anything about why he broke his phone, though. It'll wait until they're face to face.

He blurts out the news to Maggie while he's helping her with dinner, and she automatically drops everything to wrap him in a hug.

Eddie lets himself cry on her shoulder.

That's how he ends up at the hospital again, standing still in front of his mother's room, Maggie at his side.

“You just go, honey, I'll be waiting for you here”, she says, pointing a chair just a few meters away from the door, where Eddie will be able to see her if he turns away. He nods. Waits for the nurse to catch up to him, lets her knock on the door.

“Mrs Kaspbrak, you have a visitor!” She announces, way too happy about the situation. Of course.She doesn't know.

Eddie sees her for the first time in months. She's lost a lot of weight, has actually deflated to a more standard size. She's sitting on her bed in her hospital gown, watching one of her usual tv shows on the little screen in the right corner of the room. Of course, Eddie thinks. Why would she act any different here than at home?

“Eddie-bear!” She exclaims when she sees him. Her eyes are shiny behind her glasses as she opens her arms for him. Eddie stays frozen, as far from the bed as he can. “Eddie-bear, why aren't you kissing your mommy? Aren't you happy to see me?”

_No,_ he's not, he's not fucking happy to see her, he's miserable, that's what he is. But words stay stuck in the back of his throat.

“Why are you acting so distant? Don't you love me?”

Her voice makes him want to puke. He wished he'd never hear it again, and yet, there she is, trying to manipulate him the minute he sets foot into her room. It's like a tape on replay; it never changes over the years, no matter how long you are without hearing it. You'd think a coma would have put things in perspective for her. Eddie wishes he never set foot in here.

It's too late to have regrets, though, and he knows he has to do this. He already did while she was asleep, he can do it now, too.

“I...” He hesitates. Doesn't know where to start. “I only came here for closure”, he says finally, and he realizes his entire body is trembling. He sits on the visitor's chair, tries to still his limbs.

“Closure? That doesn't mean anything, Eddie-bear, you don't need closure when I'm right here. Stop being so silly and come to me already.” She opens her arms agan, more insistant this time, but Eddie doesn't budge.

“Mom, we have to talk- I have to talk. Seriously. And I know you'll be tempted to interrupt me but please don't. Just answer my questions, okay?”

Sonia nods, curiously silent, as Eddie fidgets with the hem of his shirt.

“Why do you think I'm so weak?”

She raises an eyebrow but does as he asked and just answers the question.

“I don't think you are weak, Eddie, I _know_ you are. You were always fragile, when you were a kid you would catch any sickness that was in the air, and the other kids were mean to you, they would use this against you. You always needed my protection. You still do. For three months I was gone and look what you became. A sad, lonely boy that won't hug his mother. That's not how I raised you; you let just about anyone in that weak little mind of yours. You need me to remind you how to be a good boy.”

_you let just about anyone in that weak little mind of yours_

_weak little mind of_

_weak_

_little_

_mind_

“That's not true”, Eddie tries almost desperately. “What you're saying, that's not true. The only person that ever manipulated me was you. You're doing it right now.”

His hands are still shaking.

“You're doing it right now and I won't let you.”

“Oh, Eddie-bear, stop trying to push me away, that's not a good look on you. How can you say I'm manipulative? All I ever did was care for you, provide for you, and I had to do it alone because your father left us too soon. So excuse me for ever asking you to love me back, you, my only child. I guess that makes me a horrible mother.”

“But you didn't- the problem is that you didn't care, like you say, at least not in the way that mattered. You cared only about yourself and what you wanted.”

She looks at him, shocked.

“I care only about _myself_ , you say? So I cared about myself when I fed you and gave you a home to live in, brought you to your doctor's appointments so you'd have the medication you needed? That was selfish to you?”

“That's not what I'm saying, stop twisting my words! You gave me fucking vitamins! You _lied_!”

“I'm not twisting your words, Eddie-bear, I'm repeating exactly what you just said.”

“No you're not. No you're not. You're trying to make me feel guilty and small and I hate that it's working right now, because that's exactly why you're selfish, you just want to bend me so I fit into your idea of the perfect son, and you cut the parts you don't want like it's just some kind of sick game!”

Eddie can feel the panic rise in his chest, and almost turns to Maggie to call for her help. He knows she hears everything from where she's sitting, she'd be in the room in less than a second. He forces himself to take a deep breath before he starts talking again.

“I spent all these years trying to be what you asked of me and it made me fucking miserable. Don't you want me to be happy?”

“Oh, Eddie-bear, of course I want you to be happy”, she says and her voice is sweet, and for one short moment Eddie believes her. That's all he ever wanted to hear from her, a proof of her love for him. “But you don't know a thing about happinness, and you don't know what's good for you either. I know. That's why you have to stay with me in order to be happy. I'm the only one that can give you what you need-”

“Stop”, he interrupts, but she doesn't listen, and she continues.

“- and you won't ever get it without me. Nobody will take care of you the way I do. The people you think love you will just leave you alone at the end of the day, but I won't; I'll always be there, Eddie. I'm your mother, you can't find that kind of love anywhere else. You can't-”

“Stop!” He repeats, louder this time. She still goes on.

“- pretend with others, because it might work for a while but then they'll stop caring and they'll let you be reckless and you'll catch sicknesses again and break bones and drink alcohol and kiss _boys_ and get AIDS, but that's not good for you, Eddie-bear, you can't do that. Do you want to be sick again? You remember how much it hurt when you broke your arm, do you want to feel like this again? Do you want AIDS, Eddie? Because that's whatyou get when you kiss boys.”

“I don't. I don't want any of that. But what I want even less is to be your puppet again. And if kissing boys is gonna give me AIDS, then I probably will die of it soon because I don't just kiss boys, I let them fuck me in the ass, too, and you know what? It feels fucking good.”

He gets up and walks to the bed, eyes dark and jaw clenched. Sonia Kaspbrak just sits there, powerless for the first time in her life, as she looks at her son, small and vulnerable in her hospital gown. She opens her mouth to talk but Eddie lifts a finger angrily, interrupting her before she even starts talking.

“I swear to god, if you _ever_ fucking try to talk to me again, I'll call the police and file a complaint for harrassement. You're a pathetic excuse of a mother, and I hope the next time I'll see you will be to put you in a fucking coffin, you fucking heartless _bitch-_ ”

He's cut short by a hand gripping his arm firmly and walking him out of the room, disoriented and still angry.

Maggie is taking him outside with her determined stance and an unreadable look on her face. He doesn't protest, suddenly too drained to even talk anymore, and lets her guide him around the long, white hallways of the hospital.

He nearly gets blinded by the sun when they finally push through the exit door. Everything is so bright, so much brighter than the dull, white hospital walls. Maggie turns to him and her expression softens infinitely as she takes his face into her hands.

“You would have regretted finishing that sentence, darling. I couldn't let you do that. It was insufferable having to listen to that without any option to help. No child should ever have to go through something of the sorts. It was incredibly brave of you to confront her like that, but you did enough. It's over, now, okay? You get to breathe. You get to be happy.”

She runs a hand through his hair, kisses his forehead gently.

“Let's go home”, she says and Eddie nods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you probably noticed i changed the number of chapters for this work. next chapter will be the last one, yes, already, and it's all fluff. literally all fluff. no more spoilers though. 
> 
> i hope you liked this chapter, don't forget to leave a comment if you feel like it, they are always appreciated <3 i'll see you soon!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooooo  
> this is it  
> the last chapter. 
> 
> it's all fluff and sweet love and it makes me really happy. i hope it makes y'all happy too. The only trigger warning that applies for this chapter is the following:
> 
> tw for explicit sexual content. 
> 
> see you in the end notes!

_The Musée d'Art Contemporain de Montréal presents_

Eddie

_an exhibition by Richie Tozier_

_Emerging artist from the LGBTQIA+ community, Richie Tozier makes his first step in the contemporary arts world with this first exhibition in collaboration with the MAC._

_Barely twenty, he puts himself out there, showing us in his artworks real, raw emotion, in the form of paintings, sketches and installations. This is an ode to love in its purest form, an ode to life, sexuality and honesty._

_Thirty percents of the profits from ticket sales will go directly to Suicide Action Montréal, a non-profit organization that works to help individuals with suicidal ideas, as well as people who lost family members or friends to suicide._

_From Feb. 9 to Apr. 18_

It seems so unreal, Richie thinks as he's holding this day's newspaper, with an ad for _his_ own fucking exhibition in it. He's been working on the project secretly for months, now, and it's a chance Eddie doesn't read newspapers ever, because it would have spoiled the surprise for him if he did.

They've been together for a year today, and still, every morning when he wakes up Richie finds himself surprised to see Eddie next to him, as if the past months were just a dream.

It's not, though, Eddie makes sure to remind him everyday.

Richie has, for the first time in his life, everything planned to the smallest detail. They're supposed to go out to eat with their friends to celebrate their one year of being together. He made a reservation at a new restaurant in town, not too far from the museum so they can head there directly after dinner. The official starting date of his exhibition is tomorrow but everything is already set up over there, and he was able to get a private night for himself and his friends.

Then Eddie will finally discover what he's been hiding from him all these months, and hopefully he'll be happy about it.

Richie would be lying if he said he wasn't nervous about it; he's fucking terrified.

“What if he doesn't like it, though?”

“Dude, that's the most romantic thing you could ever do for him. He can't just _not_ like it”, Mike says, and it doesn't reassure him as much as he wants.

“But maybe he'll think it's creepy or something, you know? Oh my god, what if he thinks it's creepy and then he breaks up with me because I'm like a fucking pervert or something? Mike I think I'm spiraling I don't feel good right now”, he whines, out of breath already, and it's just too much, the stress. He can't wait for it to be over.

This means so much to him – in terms of both career and love – so what if Eddie is not on board? It's possible, after all, it's a lot, and they have been together for only one year, which is a very short time in the grand scheme of things.

If Eddie doesn't like it it will break his heart, he knows that much. And he's not sure how he'll react to it.

He's in a better place than he's ever been, mentally, but Richie knows he'll always have this fragility inside of him, he knows he'll always be perhaps too emotive and too _much_ overall, so he knows he can still fall if things start crumbling around him.

For the moment he just tries not to anticipate, but that has proven to be a failed experiment.

“Richie, calm down, look at me.” Mike puts his hands on Richie's shoulders, firm and warm and comforting. “I promise you it's not creepy. I've seen much of your work and it's beautiful, man, you gotta trust yourself and trust Eddie. You guys are made for each other. He'll love it, I promise, okay?”

“Okay”, says Richie, because there's nothing else to answer.

He spends most of the day pacing around in Mike's house, and then his house, waiting for Eddie to come back home so they can leave already.

Funny how days can be so short when you're enjoying yourself but so fucking long when you're waiting for a precise moment. Hours take forever to pass, and by the time he finally hears the front door unlock, Richie has bitten out his nails and the skin around it, too. He looks at his hands; the tip of his fingers is a bloody mess, and now there's blood on his sweater, too, which means he has to change, which means he won't be wearing his favourite outfit, which means everything is gonna go wrong. Fuck.

“Hey, how was your da- what the fuck happened to your hands, Rich?”

Of course, this would be the first thing Eddie notices when he looks at him. There's no sense in hiding it now, though.

“I was nervous.”

“About tonight?”

“Yeah, about tonight.”

Eddie's face softens and he takes one of Richie's hands in his to get a closer look.

“You shouldn't be so stressed out about it, we're only eating out with our friends. I know it's a fancier place than usual, but it's still just us.” He kisses his knuckles gently. It makes Richie feel all warm and fuzzy inside. “Go wash your hands, okay? I'll get changed and then we can go pick up Bill and Georgie.”

When Eddie gets back upstairs, he's wearing a dress shirt with a bold flowers pattern and motherfucking _white pants_ that Richie has never seen before but that he definitely plans on seeing again. For a while he just stands in the middle of the room, gaping at his boyfriend and suddenly feeling very underdressed in his sweater and blue jeans.

“Where the fuck do these come from?” he lets out finally, still dumbstruck.

“Oh the pants?” Eddie asks and he grins, “I bought them last week. You like them?”

“Eddie. Eds. Look at me. I have a literal boner right now. Of course I fucking love them. I can see, like... everything. You're so fucking hot, I swear to god.”

“Great, that's what I was aiming for. You ready?”

Richie loves his boyfriend very much.

But he also absolutely hates how much of a tease he is.

*

They pick up Bill and Georgie in Eddie's new car, and they regret it almost immediately because finding a parking spot in downtown Montreal in winter is really fucking _impossible,_ and it takes them twenty minutes and a whole lot of swearing before they finally park the car, like a kilometer away from the restaurant. Taking the subway would have been much faster.

They basically run as Eddie doesn't want to arrive late, and get there with exactly one minute to spare. Most of the group is there already, beautiful and fancy and smiling.

“Maybe I should have worn like, a shirt or something...” Richie mutters in his boyfriend's ear, feeling suddenly very self-conscious.

“I think you look great.”

And really, it's all Richie needs to hear to feel good about himself again. If it's Eddie-approved, then he doesn't have to feel weird about it.

They greet everyone, Richie blushes when Bev whispers to him how excited she is about the exhibition, Georgie immediately sits next to Stan, whom he likes very much, and Eddie heads to the bathroom to wash his hands.

“So?” Bill asks as soon as Eddie's out of earshot. “How are you f-feeling about tonight?”

“Crazy anxious, man. I've been reconsidering every life choice I've ever made all fucking day.” His leg is bouncing restlessly under the table. “I don't think I've ever been this stressed out in my life”, he adds.

They all smile sweetly, saying he's got no reason to be anxious, that everything is going to go just fine, but Richie will believe it when he'll see it. In the meantime, he takes three deep breaths, orders the strongest drink on the menu and waits for Eddie to come back.

It goes great, the dinner, and for a while Richie forgets why he's so anxious. The waitress is very nice and very pretty with long, blonde hair and wide brown eyes, and she tells them they're a very sweet group of friends. She offers to take a picture of all of them, offers Eddie and Richie a dessert on the house when she learns it's their anniversary today.

“It's not often we see a couple with chemistry such as yours. You two look like you're made for each other, you have this energy, I think everybody can feel it”, she says, and it makes Richie weep. He makes sure to give her a huge tip.

When he glances at the people around the table, he realizes how lucky he is to have found them and how much he love them.

Eddie, obviously, he has a different love for, but he's pretty sure it's never gonna die. When he looks at him, it's like the whole world is right, like everything is in its right place in the universe, like all the stars are aligned. When he stares into Eddie's eyes, time stops and perfection feels eternal.

Bill, he doesn't know what he would have done without him sometimes. Bill has like this incredibly calming presence, grounding, even, and Richie knows he can always go to him, no matter the problem, no matter the time of day. They've known each other for so long and they've been through so much, in high school, back when they were losers, bullied and alone, but at least they were alone together. His life wouldn't be the same without Bill.

He wouldn't have met Georgie, for a start. Georgie, probably the sweetest teenage boy in the world, so wise and soft-spoken for his age, Georgie who looks up to him and who he looks up to, Georgie who is the first person he showed his scars to. They were always pretty close, but they grew closer during the past year, and even if he doesn't need to babysit him anymore, Richie still hangs out with him regularly. He's very proud to call him is friend.

Then there's Ben, whom he met through his mom, Ben who has the softest, kindest heart he's ever seen before, who never judged him, even when they first met and Richie couldn't stop making gross, awkward jokes. He still remembers the first time they met, he automatically thought _this guy is sweet I would bet my life on it,_ and boy, was he right. Ben who is always genuinely happy to see him, who answers his texts super fast and gives the best love advice one could hope for.

He's still so thankful for metting Mike, by pure luck at that party, years ago. Mike is the strong, patient friend he needs, is never annoyed by him, lets him get in and out of his house whenever he wants. Mike who dumped one of his girlfriends because she told him she didn't want Richie to have a key of his place anymore. He is so fucking loyal, the kind of guy Richie would call to bail him out of jail. Not that he plans on getting arrested, but if it ever happened, Mike would definitely come and get him at the station, no questions asked.

And if it wasn't for Eddie, he wouldn't have met Stan either.

He remembers when he first met him, Richie thought he was distant and cold, but that's just the exterior, because Stan is anything but distant and cold, and he is, besides Eddie, the one he has the most fun bickering with. He's always sarcastic, so quick on his feet, but behind his eyerolls Richie knows there's fondness, and he also knows it because they smoked weed together one time and Stanley told him how much he liked him and how happy he was that he'd met Eddie. He also bragged a lot about being the one who got them together in the first place, that night.

And also Beverly, beautiful, determined, amazing Beverly. She's the Strong Independent Woman Richie aspires to be, really, and even if she laughs when he tells her, he doesn't mean it any less. Beverly is the kind of person he needs by his side to kick him in the ass when he's about to collapse under his own weight, to push him and say _go you I know you can do it._ If Beverly jumped off a bridge, Richie would follow. That's how much he trusts her.

Alex and Liam are there too, and it's kind of a shock realizing that they're both such an important part of his life, now. Liam helped him a lot with the exhibition, even wrote a soundtrack for it, and that's something neither of them ever thought would be possible.

Things aren't perfect between them, and they probably never will be, as some things cannot be forgotten, but as far as Richie is concerned, they are at least forgiven. Alex has been a good influence on Liam, too, with her fire and her courage and her contagious laugh. She helped him change in the best possible ways, and all things considered, it's kind of thanks to her that Richie and Liam got closer. It's a good thing.

It's all good things.

“Eveything okay, there, Richie? You haven't talked in fifteen minutes!”

Richie jolts out of his reflexions abruptly, realizing everybody is watching him. He smiles.

“Call me a sap, but I was thinking how fucking happy I am to have you guys in my life”, he says, and there's an explosion of _awwwwws_ around the table.

Next to him, Eddie is smiling wide. He hopes he sees this smile everyday for the rest of his life.

“Yeah, Tozier, you're a fucking sap”, he says, but his eyes are soft. “So, are we leaving this place or what? I wanna get drunk and dance.” His tone is categoric when he stands up so everyone follows, gathering their coats and making sure they haven't forgotten anything.

“We'll see you at the museum?” Stanley whispers in Richie's ear, and he nods.

The walk back to the car feels even longer than the first time, especially with Eddie complaining about it the whole time, but Richie couldn't care less about all of this. It seems so futile, compared to what's coming, and when he meets Eddie's angry eyes, he just smiles.

“I swear to fucking god, next time we're taking an Uber”, Eddie mumbles as he gets in the driver's seat.

“Actually, can I drive?” Richie asks, because asking Eddie to drive to the museum would be just too obvious. “You're too angry, I don't want to have to deal with your road rage”, he jokes, and Bill snorts behind him. They both know how Eddie can be behind the wheel. Richie still remembers the first time he got into a car with him; he's been traumatized ever since. Eddie is perfectly bilingual when it comes to swear words.

Eddie flips him off but switches seats nonetheless, mumbling something about _fucking downtown_ as he moves. It doesn't take long for him to realize they're not going in the right direction, though.

“You're going the wrong way. We're supposed to drop Georgie home, remember?”

“Yeah, I know, I just have a quick stop I have to make before that”, Richie says, hoping the answer will be satisfying enough for Eddie to stop talking until they get there. As it turns out, it's not, but Richie is much experienced in the fine art of talking his way out of risky situations.

So he starts talking and he doesn't stop until they finally get there, fifteen minutes later.

“What the fuck are we doing here?” Eddie finally interrupts when he recognizes the building in front of the car. “You had to make a quick stop at the fucking _museum_?”

Okay, Richie feels the judgement, and he knows Eddie is pissed because he was planning on getting black out drunk in the next hour, but he also knows all his anger will disappear as soon as he understands exactly what they're doing here. Or at least he hopes so.

“Yeah, I had to make a quick stop at the museum, and you're coming with me, you gremlin. Come on.”

He takes Eddie by the hand, ignoring his complaining. Bill and him exchange and amused glance, and they must not be subtle enough because Eddie sees it immediately.

“Why are you looking at each other like that? You're hiding something. What are you hiding? Richie, what are you hiding? Bill! Bill tell me wh- why the fuck are they all here?”

Incredulous, Eddie stares at their friends, who are all waiting for them in front of the museum. There's advertisement for the exhibition as soon as they get in, so before they walk through the door Richie turns to Eddie, slowly, and takes his hands.

“So I have a suprise for you, and I've been planning it for... well, for a while, ok? And it's kind of a big thing, and I really hope you like it because I'm really fucking proud of it and also I love you really fucking much, okay? I just... I love you so much, Eds, sometimes I feel I'm losing my mind.”

“I love you too”, Eddie whispers, and they stay like that, standing in front of each other, holdings hands for a while. Until it gets too long, of course. “I know we're having a moment but I'm really curious about that surprise so can we please go inside?” He blurts out, and Richie's chest flutters.

They are greeted with a huge poster of the exhibition, Richie's first painting of his boyfriend, with the name _EDDIE_ written under it in white, bold letters.

“What the fuck...”

Eddie's own eyes are wide with wonder and curiosity, shiny under the bright neon lights of the museum's entrance. He's beautiful, like this, he looks so much younger, kind of like a kid who sees a firetruck up close for the first time, impressed and amazed. Richie takes a mental picture of the vision, making sure he remembers it in all its exactitude so that when the moment is over, he can still come back to it. Maybe he'll paint it, too. Why not.

He tells his name to the receptionnist, who immediately guides them to the exhibition's closed door. She looks at Richie, then Eddie, and she seems to understand because a warm smile spreads on her face.

She unlocks the door and closes it behind them, to make sure no other visitor enters it before the official opening date tomorrow. Liam's soundtrack starts playing, and it's like an invitation.

Eddie doesn't let go of Richie's hand as he walks towards the presentation wall, where there's a brief biography of Richie, and then the explanation of the project. Richie can see him move his lips slightly as he reads, and he feels Eddie's grip on his hand grow tighter with each sentence. He turns to him when he's done, and are those tears Richie sees at the corners of his eyes? And his cheeks are pink and his breath is faster than usual and he looks like he might explode at any given time now.

“Rich... Is this real?”

Eddie's voice is small and gentle and Richie nods, unable to speak, as he feels emotions rise inside him like the tide. And then Eddie goes. He walks off to the first painting in silence with his neck flushed red. Reads the title, _Eddie in the sky with diamonds,_ smiles softly at the reference. It's one of his favourite songs.

Their friends do the same, everyone silent, deeply focused, while Richie just stands at the entrance, still, repeating to himself _this is not a dream this is not a dream this is not a dream_ in a loop. Richie Tozier is twenty, and he's already featured at the MAC. Richie Tozier is twenty, and he's surrounded by friends on this first night, he's twenty and he's so ridiculously in love with one Eddie Kaspbrak that he deticated an entire exhibition to him.

Richie Tozier is twenty, and he's really, really fucking happy.

He wipes off a few tears with the back of his hand, takes a moment to collect himself before he goes find his boyfriend.

But his efforts are all in vain because when he gets to Eddie and sees the wetness of his cheeks and the gleam in his eyes, he starts crying again, overcome with emotions so strong he can't contain them.

“I can't fucking believe you did this...” Eddie whispers. “I'm so proud of you.”

That hits home. Because Eddie isn't just happy or thankful, Eddie's proud of him, of his work and his soul, really, and isn't it everything he could want in life?

They wander through the rest of the room hand in hand, and Richie swoons everytime Eddie recognizes a moment on his paintings, everytime he smiles and everytime he blushes. When they get to the sketches, which are mostly nudes, Eddie's face takes a nice shade of red.

“At least you make it look like I have a way bigger dick than in reality”, he mutters, and Richie loses it.

Maybe it's the nerves finally relaxing, or the fact that they're surrounded with dozens of drawings of a naked Eddie, but soon enough they're both laughing so hard they cry, and when they finally calm down, it's like all of their previous anxiety has vanished.

“Is it weird if these kinda turn me on?”

“Eds. I literally drew all of these with a huge freaking boner. I'm pretty sure it's a normal reaction.”

There's a moment of silence during which Eddie looks closely at the drawings on the wall, arms hugging his chest.

“You know what?” He says, still facing one of the pictures of him masturbating, “I don't think we should go out tonight. I think we should get home and have sex fore like... three to five hours.”

“Fuck, yes, we should definitely do that. Wanna get my hands all over that tight little body of yours”, Richie all but moans in return.

“Yeah? What else do you want?”

“I want, I don't know, fuck, I just want to feel you, want to see you, to taste you. Want you to eat me out. Want to have you inside me.”

“You like it, when I fuck you, don't you? When I give it to you hard and deep until you can't remember your name anymore?” Eddie's voice is low and hot, his eyes hooded, and it makes Richie's dick twitch in his pants. He's half hard already, and from the look of it, Eddie is too. He's about to lean down to kiss him when Beverly walks straight to them with a grin.

“Can't you guys keep your hands off each other for a few hours?” She grins, and Richie curses under his breath as he tries to rearrange his cock to be more comfortable in his pants. “This is amazing, Richie, really. You have so much talent. Ben has been crying for the last fifteen minutes, he's so emotional, it's so cute.”

Eddie starts walking around the room once again, ready to continue his tour, and he's smiling wide. They talk with Ben for a while, who's indeed crying, and he tells Richie how beautiful and romantic this is.

Eddie sheds a couple more tears, too, when he sees the portraits of him that are painted in black and blue, the ones dated from last year, when his mom woke up, and the following months. Richie's representations of him hit home, they're so raw, and so true, and it's amazing to see how much Richie actually notices about him, the tiny beauty marks, the way his eyes crinkle, the arch of his eyebrows and the curve of his lashes.

Richie loves him so much.

When they get home later that night, after dropping Bill and Georgie at their place with hugs and kisses, they find it empty. On the kitchen table, there's a note written in Maggie's beautiful handwriting, telling them that Wentworth and her went on a couple's weekend at the spa so Richie and Eddie could be alone for the night. Liam and Alex both went back to her place, and maybe this was planned.

It's so toughtful Richie thinks he might cry, but then Eddie's hands are all over him, his mouth planting heated kisses on every bit of skin it can find.

“Fuck, Rich, want you so much”, he whines between two kisses, panting. “And we have the whole house to ourselves which means we can take a shower together in the bathroom upstairs.”

It shouldn't be that much of a turn on, but it is; the shower in that bathroom is _huge_ and fancy and there's like three showerheads. They've never used it together, though, because how awkward would it be to have sex in there while Richie's parents are just on the other side of the wall, in their own bedroom?

Eddie's standing on his toes, kissing and biting Richie's jaw, leaving small marks that will disappear in a few hours. His eyes are glassy, his lips shiny with saliva, his hair is a mess and he looks so hot, really, and they press their bodies together, both hard already, both impatient to get rid of their clothes.

They lose most of them on their way to the bathroom, a shirt in the stairs and a pair of pants in the hallway. By the time they get the water running there's only underwear left on them, fabric tensed over their erections.

It's awkward, kissing under the stream of water, they can barely breathe and Richie's hair gets everywhere, long and curly strands of it stuck to his face, but they laugh and the world feels light around them.

Eddie looks so beautiful like this, chest flushed red from the heat and arrousal, lips puffed and his gaze unfocused, he looks so beautiful and Richie kisses him and kisses him until Eddie's begging him to do something more, until he's begging him to get down on his knees.

Richie does just that. He lowers his mouth until it's facing Eddie's cock, hard and wet and beautiful, kisses it gently at the base, smiles when he hears his boyfriend's desperate whimpers. He licks the tip tentatively, looking up to Eddie, relaxes his jaw, and takes it in his mouth.

He has kind of an oral fixation, he thinks, and it's grown worse over the past year, with Eddie being so accessible and so eager to getting his dick sucked. And really, who is Richie to refuse him that? He loves the taste of Eddie, his soft and hot skin, the way his lips fit around him and the sounds that he makes when Richie twirls his tongue around him. He also loves it when Eddie comes, how he jerks his hips and fills his mouth, and it makes him choke, sometimes, he gets tears in the corner of his eyes but it's so fucking _good_ at the same time.

So he sucks Eddie's dick in the shower with one hand on his ass and the other cupping his balls, and the sounds they both make are nearly pornographic, and Richie's really happy they're both alone because the moans and low groans that get out of Eddie's throat are so fucking hot and he wants to keep hearing them forever.

“ _Fuck,_ Rich...” Eddie sounds utterly wrecked. “You're so good at this, how are you so good at this?”

Richie doesn't answer, though, but he does take Eddie's hand to put it in his hair, that's his _go crazy, fuck my mouth_ signal, and his eyes roll back a little when Eddie tugs on it, his hips jerking foward.

When he was younger the idea of being manhandled in bed was so foreign, and a little wrong, too, and he would have never believed anyone who told him he'd get hard for it one day. As it turns out, people change in the most surprising ways, and Richie definitely loves it when Eddie's just a little rough, or when he tells him what to do and takes complete control.

Maybe it has something to do with the amount of trust he has in his boyfriend. He knows, deep down, that Eddie would never hurt him for real, and he knows that he'd stop whatever he's doing if asked. And maybe that's why the concept seemed so odd before; because Richie just never trusted anybody enough to be at peace with it.

Richie knows Eddie's about to come when he starts mumbling nonsense, eyes half closed and both his hands at the back of Richie's head. His orgasm is loud and wet and Richie swallows every drop of it, sitting on his calves, hot water drippling on his face. Eddie lowers down his knees as well, his legs definitely too wobbly to hold his weight anymore, kisses him deeply.

They stay like that for a moment, exploring each other's mouths, but Richie's still painfully hard, and Eddie doesn't make him wait for too long.

“Get up”, he says. “Bend over on the wall for me.”

Richie does as he's told, his face red from the heat but also because he's so fucking exposed like this, with Eddie holding his buttcheeks parted, leaving a trail of kisses on the soft, sensitive skin in front of him.

Richie has come to term with a lot of things that he loves. He loves it when Eddie takes control. He loves sucking his dick. He loves watching Eddie touch himself. He loves hearing him cry out his name when he's fucking him and he sure does love getting fucked as well. He loves all these things, and many more.

But having Eddie eat his ass and fuck him with his tongue, as much as he loves it, he's also really fucking embarrassed by it, still. It's so intimate, so vulgar and yet so _good,_ it makes his head spin and his knees weak. He wants to lean into it and shy away at the same time, so he's always a bit on edge, and he can't really, totally let go like he would want to, like Eddie does when he's the one getting rimmed.

He lets out a surprised yelp when he feels one of Eddie's fingers join his tongue and push inside him but relaxes into the touch right after.

“You like that, baby, don't you? You like it so much when I eat you out, god, look at you all open for me, you're doing so good, Rich, you're so good”, Eddie says against his skin, with his breath hot and his voice low.

“Yeah, fuck, yeah, Eds, I like it, I like it so fucking much...” Richie voice is higher than usual, a whimper against the shower's tiles as Eddie pushes another finger inside him.

“Tell me what you want, baby, tell me what you want and I'll give it to you.”

Richie's brain feels like mush inside his head, unable to form complete thoughts, so he just mutters what he can, wrecked words cut out with deep moans.

“Just- just keep going, Eds, so _fucking good_ please don't stop don't- want your mouth want you to make me lose my mind want to- _fuck!_ ” He takes in a sharp breath when he feels Eddie add a third finger and brush his prostate, shamelessly cries out his name when he hits it again, and again, and on the fourth time when Eddie adds his tongue back to the mix his orgasm takes him over so violently that he promptly falls on his knees with loud, deep moans.

For a while there his vision is completely blank as Eddie keeps fingering him through it until he starts crying from overstimulation.

“Shit”, he mumbles when it's finally over, “I'm so sorry, I'm a fucking mess.” Sobs escape him against his will, though, and as much as he tries to hold them back, they just shake his whole body, half lying on the shower's floor, while Eddie carefully removes his fingers.

“Stop being sorry for being a mess, dumbass, that's what I was aiming for. Besides, that was so fucking hot that I'm already hard again”, he chuckles.

“Eds, you gotta let me recover from this first, fuck, I think my brain just, like, shut down. Can't think straight.”

There's a moment of silence, and then:

“Guess it's a good thing I'm gay.”

“Nevermind, I'm not hard anymore. Your stupid joke killed the mood”, Eddie grumbles, but he's grinning.

They get out of the shower shortly after that, deciding to watch a movie while they wait for their bodies to start working right again. They settle on _Thor: Ragnarok_ because Richie has the biggest crush on Chris Hemsworth even if they've seen it a thousand times already.

“For real, though, Heimdall could _get it_ ” Eddie blurts out about halfway in, and it's so sudden Richie chokes out on his drink, spitting half of it on himself.

“What the _fuck,_ Eds!” He screams-laughs when he's finally done coughing, face still red and voice still raw. “Also, who choses fucking Heimdall over Thor, Lord of Thunder? Like, yeah, he's hot, but have you seen Thor? I would pay to suck that guy's dick.”

“Yeah but that's just you being a fangirl. But let's say Thor's out of the picture, who would you chose? There's one right answer, and it's Heimdall. Call him daddy and everything.”

“Wow, Eds, you're so fucking wrong I can't believe I dedicated an entire art exhibition to you. The obvious answer is the Grandmaster. You can tell that guy's into some kinky shit. Also: Jeff Goldblum. Yum.”

“Y-You choose the fucking _Grandmaster_ over Heimdall?” Eddie shrieks, clearly offended. “Are you fucking insane? Like alright you can get freaky with him but he also owns slaves? He's clearly the kind of guy that like, does live action tentacle porn or something. I can't fucking believe you. What are you gonna tell me next, you want to fuck that piece of rock? Korn or Korg or something? Or- or the fucking insect guy? Richie, answer me seriously, _do you want to fuck the insect guy?_ ”

It's so ridiculous, that conversation, and soon it gets out of hand, and they're arguing over _Shrek,_ and Eddie gets so weirdly into it, straight-up standing on the couch and yelling at Richie.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Rich? You would fuck fucking _Lord Farquaad_ over Prince Charming? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What can I say, Eds, I love small and powerful men!”

Richie loves him very, very much.

*

They end up sharing angry – on Eddie's side – handjobs on the couch before going to bed at three in the morning, tired but giddy with happinness.

They wake up tangled in each other, still sleepy, but it's noon and Eddie insists they at least get up to eat before they “pass out from lack of nutrients”.

“Alright, Eddie-spaghetti, I'll get up but only if you promise me your eternal love in exchange.”

“You already have that.”

“Wow, smooth. Also: gross. I never gave you the right to be this sweet in the morning.”

Eddie giggles and Richie follows him upstairs into the kitchen, where they eat breakfast while texting their friends in their group chat. It's light, and sweet and domestic, and it feels just right. Richie can't believe they have to go back in the real world tomorrow, where it won't be just the two of them. Liam and his parents will come back, and then he'll have to go to school on monday and go to the museum for the openng night of his exhibition, and then next week he's invited as a guest speaker at another college, where he's supposed to share his experience as an emerging artist and talk about his work.

But for now, he can still goof around with Eddie, he doesn't have to be an adult just yet. They try to catch grapes in their mouths and Richie misses all of his, then they engage in a viscious thumb wars that Eddie wins just because he's a cheater, and to get back at him Richie spits on his hand when they brush their teeth.

They go back to bed after, because they don't have anything to do today, and they only have a few hours left where they can fool around and make as much noise as they want.

That's how they end up naked, Richie on top of Eddie and grinding against each other. Eddie kisses like it's the end of the world, urgently and passionately and Richie loves every second of it. There's no place he'd rather be than right there, Richie thinks as he feels Eddie's hand carress his back, starting between his shoulderblades and finishing their run on the small dip at the bottom of it, just before his ass.

Richie shivers when he feels the fingers tickles him ligthly, grinds a bit harder when they get farther down. They're both wearing only pajamas pants and he can feel Eddie's erection throbbing against his thigh.

“I love you so much, Rich”, Eddie whispers against his jaw, and Richie could cry. “So, so much.”

They're both a little bit lightheaded, blurting out incoherent words between their feverish kisses. It's Eddie that finally gets both of them naked, throwing their pants somewhere in a corner of the room while Richie giggles.

“What do you want?” Eddie asks him as he straddles his thighs, trailing his fingers on Richie's stomach.

“Anything, Eds, I just want you”, he whines in answer, already out of breath.

“That makes me think, I never got to fuck you yesterday, didn't I? Oh, you want that, baby? I'm gonna make you feel so good you'll cry again.” He chuckles as Richie blushes, trying to hide his face behind his hands.

“Stop trying to embarrass me!”

“I'm not trying to embarrass you! It's just that it's really good for my ego that I can make you come so hard you cry.”

“Fuck you.”

“Actually, I'm trying to do just the opposite.”

He looks proud of himself, the little shit.

He knows how to get his way, though, because two or three strokes around Richie's dick and Richie's forgotten his previous embarrassement.

“Alright, alright, I don't care, make me cry again”, he whines, and Eddie laughs.

He bends down to kiss him softly with hot lips and a smug smile, and Richie just leans into it, happy and comfortable. Eddie jerks him off a bit until Richie asks for more, and he just takes him in his mouth without any more teasing, making Richie gasp at the touch.

It's really something, having Eddie's mouth on him, so sweet and warm and wet, and the only thing that sucks about it is that Eddie can't talk while his mouth is around Richie's dick. That's really, really the only negative.

He takes his time, pulling Richie apart, twirls his tongue around the tip of his dick, pulls away with a loud popping sound. Richie watches him suck two of his own fingers into his mouth, it's downright filthy, this vision, and it makes him twitch with want, impatient to feel them. Luckily for him, Eddie doesn't make him wait to long and takes his cock back into his mouth, pushing his two fingers inside Richie at the same time.

“Fuck, Eds, you can't do that, that's against the rules!” Richie all but moans, and he feels Eddie chuckle around him. “I swear if you keep that up I'm gonna come in the next two minutes”, he adds for good measure.

“Yeah, I know, that's what I want”, Eddie says before getting back to it. He knows where to touch to make Richie lose it, because as predicted, in the spawn of two minutes, Richie comes loudly in his mouth.

Eddie doesn't say anything when he's done, though, and Richie knows he hasn't swallowed yet, and he wonders what he's planning on doing, feeling his dick twitch at the options. Maybe he'll kiss him, he does it sometimes and even though Richie could never admit it, he loves it a _lot_ when Eddie makes him swallow his own cum, but Eddie doesn't get back up, and instead gestures at Richie to turn on his stomach, which he does without asking any questions.

He moans loudly when he feels him spread his buttcheeks apart, because he has a pretty good idea of what's coming next, and it's fucking filthy but also a real fucking turn on, and Richie has never been ready for a round two so quickly in his life. It's warm and wet and Richie holds back a sob when Eddie runs a finger in it and fucks his cum back inside him.

“I knew you'd like that”, Eddie whispers hotly as he inserts a second finger. “You like it so much when I get you filthy like that, god, I love you so much Rich, I just love you so fucking much it hurts sometimes.” The last part comes out as a groan because he notices how Richie is pushing his hips back on his fingers. “You want more, baby? You're ready for my cock?”

Richie nods, way too overhwelmed to actually talk, watches Eddie grab the lube from the corner of his eyes.

“I love you so much”, he whimpers finally when he feels Eddie entering him. “Fuck I love you so much this is so good you feel so good inside me Eds _fuck_ just keep going just move please-”

Eddie doesn't need to be asked twice. He rolls his hips and Richie lets out a wrecked moan, loud and needy and Eddie hits his prostate with every thrust, making his vision white and blurry and his voice more and more raspy, and Richie is so overstimulated he thinks he might pass out, and he says so, he says _eds this is so good but i swear I'll fucking black out if you don't come soon fuck eddie please just come I wanna feel you come inside_ and that's what does it for Eddie. He comes with a loud cry and Richie follows soon after, pupils blown wide and his whole body spasming with such intensity that for a moment he wonders if this is normal.

But his brain is foggy, and he can't spend much more than a few seconds on a single thought. Eddie stays inside him through his high, though, and kisses him softly on his neck, on the side of his face, on his hair.

“I love you, I love you, I love you”, he mumbles to his boyfriend, tears prickling at the corner of his eyes again. “Eds I love you, I love you so much”' he sobs, then laughs. “Are you happy? You made me cry again, you fucking asshole!”

“Yeah, I made you cry because I gave you a mind-blowing orgasm, so that hardly makes me an asshole”, Eddie giggles. He lies down next to him, his eyes shiny. “And hey, I love you too.”

Richie doesn't walk straight for a whole day after that.

But it's worth it.

*

Things with the museum are going great. They have great numbers, whatever the fuck that means, and a pretty decent media coverage as well. It's weird, though, when Richie walks downtown, to stumble across advertisement for his own exhibition. It still feels somewhat unreal but it's a good kind of unreal, like a dream he never thought would come true.

He has this conference today at a college. He still can't believe someone asked him, precisely _him_ , to come and talk about himself and his experience as an artist in front of a bunch of people. Clearly, that person doesn't know him very well, but he's excited about it nonetheless. Eddie spent the whole morning psyching him up for it.

When he gets there, though, he starts feeling nervous all over again. He couldn't really prepare a speech since it's more of a question-and-answer type of thing, and he feels weird being the same age as the people he's going to talk to. Maybe they won't take him seriously. What if they don't take him seriously? What if they start laughing as soon as he opens his mouth to talk, what if he makes a fool of himself in front of them, what if they share folded notes and secret whispers between each other?

He feels dizzy, all of a sudden. He grips his phone in his pocket, takes a deep breath, and gets inside. The teacher told him the class' number so he could head there directly but he's still lost a bit. Everything is moving around him, the walls, the people, the floor and the ceiling, he knows it's just the stress, he knows it, and yet, he can't seem to get a grip. It's just that everything is so different to what he's used to, and it makes him want to puke how anxious he is about all of this, and he tries to look like he knows where he's going when he gets into the elevator even as he feels bile rise up his throat.

 _Third floor, room Y-E12, third floor, room Y-E12,_ he keeps chanting in his head so he doesn't forget where he's going. He takes his phone out as he steps outside the elevator, hesitating before typing out Eddie's number.

“ _Rich?_ ” Eddie's voice greets him immediately, “ _Everything okay?_ ”

“Yeah, yeah, I just got there, but man, I'm so fucking anxious, Eds, I don't know if I can do it. What if I talk too much and it's awkward? What if I can't stop making jokes because it's awkward and nobody laughs and it gets even more awkward? Eddie I don't think I can make it.”

Eddie's voice is soft when he talks. “ _You have to relax. I know how stressful these situations can be but I also know you'll kill it because you're the most amazing person I ever met in my life. You just have to believe in yourself a little. I'll be thinking about you the whole time. I know you can do it. They just can't not love you._ ”

“Your opinion of me is biased because I eat ass like a god”, Richie jokes, but his fun is quickly interrupted when he sees the pairs of shocked eyes that are looking at him in the hallway. They're waiting in front of the local he's supposed to give his presentation in. “Fuck, I think the students I'm supposed to talk to heard me say that”, he mumbles as he gets away, looking for a place where that's a little less crowded.

Eddie snorts loudly in his phone.

“ _At least they know you have talents outside of art, now_ ”, he giggles, and Richie finds himself laughing along.

“Fuck, I guess. This is gonna be a mess, Eds, I know it.”

“ _No you don't, you beautiful, talented idiot. Take a few deep breaths, and I promise it'll be over before you know it, ok? And if you really think you can't do it, then don't. Just call the college and tell them you're stuck in traffic or something. Nobody's gonna be mad at you. But I know you're gonna do great, Richie. I love you._ ”

It's funny how they're both anxious messes and yet they can even each other out when one of them is panicking. Richie does as he's told, inhales deeply, and then he has to say goodbye because he sees the teacher opening the room from the corner of his eyes. He waits until everybody is inside the class, paces in the hallway a few time to build up courage. Wipes a few tears on his cheeks.

He's going to get into that class and talk about his work which is basically just different representations of Eddie, therefore it's like he'll be talking about Eddie. He can go with that. He can talk about Eddie for a full hour, hell, he could talk about Eddie for a full week.

Another deep breath.

He gets in front of the closed door. Knocks. Can see through the window that the local is full. Smiles at the teacher when she greets him. He thinks about Eddie's warm voice.

“Richie Tozier, it's a pleasure to finally meet you. I'm Melany, as you know.” She has kind eyes and a strong voice, a silk scarf on her shoulders. “Just put your things here, dear” She says, and she turns back to her students. “So, as you all know we have a special guest today. The questions I made you write last week will come in handy, I hope you brought them with you. Before we start I'm just gonna take attendance real quick and then we can go on with the class. Charlie Allard?”

Richie sits on her desk while she reads off her student's names one by one, fumbling with the hem of his sweater. He couldn't wear something short-sleeved today.

“An Tau?”

He snaps his head up so fast he cramps his neck, but Richie knows that name. He remembers it written carefully in green ink and curvy letters, one of the first names of a long list.

He remembers because he still has the _**PETITION FOR RICHIE TOZIER TO KILL HIMSELF**_ hidden somewhere in one of his desk's drawers.

From the look on her face, An remembers too. As soon as their eyes meet he can almost feel her holding her breath, and his throat tightens. Two deers in headlights.

Of course, he had to fucking talk in front of one of his former high shcool bullies today. Of fucking course. He resists the urge to run out of there, though, thinks of Eddie to calm himself. Blinks back the tears. This is horrible. Makes him feel like fainting and puking and screaming all at the same time.

His legs are dangling off the teacher's desk, he tries to look as cool and collected as possible, but he can still feel An's eyes burning holes in his skull, her sad, apologetic look sticking onto his skin like glue. He feels gross.

“Now, Richie, dear, I'm gonna give you the floor. Maybe just tell us about you a bit, where you come from, and then we'll ask questions, yeah? I want this to be more of a conversation than anything else, really. You're here to inspire us with your story and your work.” Melany takes a seat in the back of the classroom, and suddenly Richie is alone in front of everyone, his heart beating so fast it's practically bursting out of his chest.

“Eh, so, about myself, I guess, I'm Richie Tozier, but you already know that, I'm twenty and I'm an Arts major. I'm also featured at the MAC at the moment, maybe you've seen advertising.”

He takes a break to breathe. In for three seconds, out for three seconds. Just like Eddie taught him.

“I was always interested in,you know, artistic shit and all, back when I was younger. I drew a lot, and Liam – my twin brother – he was really into music so we'd often spend days in his bedroom just like, listening to music and drawing. It stopped when we got in high school, though, because-”

He interrupts himself. Should he talk about it? It _is_ part of his journey after all, but it feels awkward exposing himself like this, especially with An staring at him.

But it's what made him, he decides after a few seconds. It's what made him.

“Because, well, you know how kids are, and I don't know, I guess I was an easy target, because they started picking on me and it never really stopped. And my brother and I got distant after that and I stopped drawing because I was so fucking depressed all the time I couldn't even hold a pencil without wanting to jab it in my throat. Anyways, I just... I just didn't feel like doing anything, you know? And when people tell you they create better things when they're depressed, they're fucking lying. Nobody is a better artist when they're sad. Melancholy is something else entirely, it's another state of mind, it has nothing to do with real sadness. Don't romanticize depression. It's ugly. So anyways. I had this really rough patch that lasted a few years where I was like a black hole of nothingness, and then at eighteen I decided I'd had enough and I tried to, well, I tried to kill myself and it failed, obviously, that's why I'm still here. My brother found me last minute.”

Another deep breath.

“But when I got out of the hospital it felt different, you know, and I went to therapy and my therapist said I should try and create again. So I did and. It was like a revelation? It was the first time I could actually focus on something other than jerking off for more than thirty minutes.”

People laugh. It already feels a lot less awkward than it did a few minute ago.

“And then I met Eddie. And the rest is history.”

A few giggles. He gets asked about Eddie a lot. How they met, how Eddie reacted to the exhibition. Most of the questions are really interesting, and he does his best to give complete, thoughtful answers. He does his best to keep a straight face when An raises her hand, too.

“You said earlier you were bullied back when you were in high school”, she starts. “How do you feel when you look back at it, now that you're obviously very accomplished? Would you forgive those people, if they were to apologize?”

“I... eh, that's a good question. I'm in a better place now than I was but I don't know if I'm there yet. Those things stick with you. I still wear long sleeves most days. But eventually... maybe. I'm working on it. Finding my inner peace, all these things.”

“Yeah, fair enough.”

She doesn't have to say more for Richie to understand what she meant with that question. As satisfying as it is to hear her apologies, though, it feels like it's too late, because it never should've happened in the first place.

It feels like it's too late becaue Richie has already started to heal, even without hearing them.

And it hits him, at that moment, that he's healing. He's far from perfect, still, but things are better now than they were a year ago, that's for sure.

Later that day, when he gets back home and cuddles with Eddie on the bed, he thinks about all those times when, as a teenager, he was convinced his life would never get any better. That he was gonna die alone and miserable, that he'd never get to have what he wants.

He has no idea what the future has in stock for them.

Eddie will never stop taking medication for his anxiety, but a few years from nowand after thorough therapy sessions, he'll finally be at peace with it. He'll be a very good nutritionist and will keep forcing Richie to eat his seven portions of vegetables a day. He'll coach teenagers for speed skating competitions. 

He'll be the one to propose to Richie when he's twenty-six. Maggie Tozier will walk him down the aisle. He'll give her mother's day gifts every year. 

Eddie will never talk to Sonia Kaspbrak again, and Sonia Kaspbrak won't reach out to him either. When they run into each other on the street, though, one day, when Eddie is in his thirties and Sonia's hair is mostly white, they'll smile. Eddie will heal.

He'll be the one that says _there's no way we're adopting a fucking dog Rich_ only to fall in love with said dog when they visit him at the kennel. He'll be the one that swears when he goes on live TV to promote a healthy lifestyle.

He'll still be Richie's muse.

Richie will get tattoos to cover up the scars on his arms and will finally start going to the beach in summer. He'll get to go to the waterslides for the first time in years, and have the time of his life.

He will partner up with different organizations to open the talk about mental health, bullying and suicide prevention. He'll be a very successful artist, will often do projects with his brother, where they mix plastic arts and music. They'll have a non-profit to help teenagers struggling with anxiety and depression find the best ressources for them. 

He'll be the best man at Liam's wedding and Liam will be his. He'll sobloudly both times, but nobody will laugh at him for that. That's just how he is. On a warm night in september, when he's twenty-eight, Richie will fetch the piece of paper he's kept carefully folded somewhere in a drawer. The **_PETITION FOR RICHIE TOZIER TO KILL HIMSELF_** will burn to ashes while he and Liam share a joint. Richie will heal.

He'll be the one to request a Shrek themed wedding cake as a joke and actually get it.

He'll be the one who cries shamelessly on live TV when he talks about how much he loves his boyfriend.

Eddie will still be his muse.

He doesn't know about any of that yet, though.

“Hey, Eds?”

“Yeah?”

Eddie's voice is sleepy. He turns to Richie with tired eyes, a soft smile on his lips.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Rich.”

That's all he ever needs in life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there. it's over. 
> 
> when i was writing this, i didn't know when the end would come. I didn't know how many chapters i would be doing, or anything, really. i just wrote. and the ending, at this point, it just came organically. i was writing and then suddenly my heart told me it was time. i still feel melancholic about it, though, finishing things is always so bittersweet.  
> on one side, i'm really proud i was able to give an actual ending to my story, but on the other, i'm sad to let it go. but hey, it's a part of life, isn't it?  
> this is the first story i've ever written in english, and my longest work as well, by about 10k words. It's also the second story i've ever finished, so it's kind of a huge deal for me. It's not perfect, far from it, but this has been overall a really great experience. your kind words and support always made me smile and feel good about myself.  
> i suffer from borderline personality disorder, anxiety and depression. this work has always been really personal for me. i'm on a journey to recovery and happiness myself, so writing about those boys, in a similar situation, and gving them a happy ending, it helped me, in a way. i can only hope it does the same for some of you who are suffering with similar matters. 
> 
> i have other ideas for this ship, but i haven't been feeling so great lately, so i'm gonna take some time to breathe before i start writing back again. but maybe you'll see me in the reddie tags here in the next few months. 
> 
> thank you all so much for your support through this. it means the world to me. <3


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